


Missing

by Cheesewheel



Category: Banana Bus Squad
Genre: Angst, Being Lost, Clinging, Confusion, Fear, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Humor, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kidnapping, Loss, M/M, Missing Persons, Panic Attacks, Pining, Protectiveness, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Content, Sexual Slavery, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2019-10-11 12:14:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 24
Words: 40,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17446787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cheesewheel/pseuds/Cheesewheel
Summary: Vanoss has vanished randomly off the face of the Earth, and it's up to his friends to try and help find him. Jonathan has no idea where Hoodini could be, the owl always keeping his cards close to his chest. What will happen when the bad news starts?





	1. Disappearance

It had been months since they had last spoken when the news came through that Vanoss had vanished. Delirious had been sat at his computer, mindlessly editing a video when the discord message came through from Moo, a seemingly innocent question of whether he had spoken to Evan recently giving no clues to how it was going to change his life as he knew it.

He hadn’t even thought twice about replying just a quick “no”, before going back to his video. He just couldn’t quite get it to change smoothly…

A new chat invite drew him back to his discord window, frowning immediately at the name.

**WHERE’S VANOSS?**

Blinking in confusion, he accepted the invite to both the group and the currently active call, pausing his music when a ciphony of voices began to bleed through. The first thing he noticed was the sheer number of people in the call, having what appeared to be his whole extended friend group here. Hell, even Nanners was present, and Jon was pretty sure none of them had been in contact with the elder man in about a year.

The second thing he noticed was the chaos, voices sounding panicked and loud, people talking over each other in effort to be heard. Frown deepening, the American called out, trying to catch the attention of his friends. Only when they ignored him did he become louder, impatience leaking into his voice.

“Hey! What you talkin’ bout?!” he nearly screamed, satisfaction rolling through him in waves when the whole call went quiet. It was Brock who answered him, sounding frantic.

“Evan’s missing.” Jonathan frowned again, head tilting.

“Missin’ how? Cause he likes to pull a Hoodini you know,” the elder quizzed back, still not too worried. Evan did like to fall off the edge of the world occasionally, usually when he was in a writing mood. Jon vaguely wondered if Rynx would be releasing a new song soon in that case… But he was shaken from his own little bubble once more, but this time by Scotty.

“Considering he’s been gone for a week, and his house is empty, I think not.” The man sounded concerned, a stark contrast to his usual joking nature. But he ignored that to focus in on his own now mounting worry, a new question spilling forth.

“What? How do you know that?” Craig spoke next.

“I went by his house yesterday because he wouldn’t answer any of us. Middle of the day, all the doors were locked, curtains pulled shut, pile of mail on the doorstep. Looks like he hasn’t been home in days.”

“He could’ve gone back to Canada,” Basically argued back. “Have you even tried to message, I dunno, his siblings?”

Jon almost laughed at how pissed the balloon artist sounded, but the situation was beating down his amusement. **_Why would Vanoss vanish?_**

“Oh, yes,” Brian snapped back, sounding equally pissed, “we so have te numbers of people Evan has mentioned maybe _twice._ And why te fuck would he go back witout telling us?”

“He doesn’t have to tell us his every fucking move Brian,” Marcel raged back. “I mean when does Evan tell us anything about his personal life?”

 ** _Ummmmmm…. Always?_** Jon kept that particular pesky thought to himself, not wanting to get involved in the current argument. Brian was already shouting back.

“ _Maybe when he planned to play wit us!”_

Marcel sounded ready to shout back when Brock cut back in.

“ _Stop it!_ We haven’t got time for this!” The man sounded angrier than Jon had ever heard him, easily making silence fall. “That’s why I created this chat, to see if any of us knew anything, not so you could bite each other heads off. Now _behave._ ”

Surprisingly the two men mumbled a quiet apology, sounding appropriately abashed. Moo just let out a muffled MPHM, silent seething somehow spilling over the audio call. Only Wildcat was brave enough to break the quiet.

“Terroriser’s right though. Vanoss is a bitch, but he never ditches recording sessions without telling us. Something not right about this shit.”

A murmur of agreement met Jonathan’s ears, unable to stop himself from agreeing as well. It was common knowledge amongst them that the Canadian was a workaholic, always determined to finish his recording, no matter how badly it was going for them. He had shown up late, bought food in the middle, even purposely given Brian the wrong time to wind the man up, but never failed to appear without texting ahead or even calling on of them to let them know.

And to find out he had bailed without reason… Delirious couldn’t help but glance at his phone. It had been a few months since his conversation with the younger had been active, both having been too busy with their lives to take time to stop and talk. Sadness had wormed its way into Jon’s heart when he thought how close they had been once, talking almost every day, but he wasn’t a stranger to friendships growing cold, his friend drifting away as they got caught up in different games and recording groups.

But now he was left wondering if he took the extra effort to keep in contact with the Canadian, he would have known where he was, or at least had more of an idea. Suppressing a sigh, he turned back to the call. It was no good dwelling on ifs and buts when he had to focus on helping the guys.

“…and no idea how to contact his family,” Ohm trailed off, upbeat attitude having been switched for something that was small and timid. Feeling a bit lost, Jonathan started when Brock addressed him.

“What about you Delirious?”

“W-what?” he stuttered back ineloquently.

“Jesus fucking Christ, pay attention you stupid fuck,” Tyler hissed, making him flinch back into his chair. Wasn’t his fault he had the attention span of a pea. “He’s asking when you last talked to Evan and if you have anyone we can contact.”

Guilt washed over him.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, before opening his phone. “Last message was the… twelfth of March.” He purposely left the second answer hanging, fruitlessly hoping they would ignore it.

“You guys not been talkin’?” Nogla quizzed, giving him a burst of hope before Mini butted in.

“Not now Nogla. Do you have his sister’s number Delirious? Or his brother’s? Or, hell, anyone’s?”

Shoulder’s slumping, Jon gave in, knowing there was no way around this. Hoping Evan would forgive him, he began again.

“No, but I do know their names. I dunno if that’s any use though…” he mumbled, feeling weird for revealing just how much Evan had told him alone. He knew the currently missing man like to keep his personal life private, even from the people he called friends, to the point where Jon had wondered just how much they knew about the successful man, how much was behind the cheeky and brash persona he put forward.

His confession created a few surprised vocalisations, before the conversation picked up again.

“Anything more? There must be millions of Fong’s out there, will just their names be enough?” Panda quizzed.

Sighing, Delirious gave his last card.

“His brother works for CBC in T-Toronto,” he offered, bracing himself for the inevitable questions. But much to his surprise, they never came, instead Nanners piping up for the first time since the clown had joined.

“I’ll call them now, see if I can get through. What’s the name Delirious?”

“Matthew,” he almost whispered back, feeling like he was revealing classified information. “Matthew Fong.”

A mumbled thanks came back, Nanners muting himself to make the call, leaving the others to wait. The silence was short lived, but conversation remained quiet, unusual for the chatty and loud group.

“What if he’s not there?” Lui threw out, voice heavy with worry. It took a beat for anyone to respond, Brock finally sighing in with a reply.

“Then we call the L.A. police, see if they can help,” the Mom friend stated, sounding worn.

“Either that, or we go kick down his door,” Tyler joked half-heartedly, earning a couple chuckles. But the spark of joy didn’t last long, the loss of their friend tainting the air with an almost bitter after tone.

Only Ohm could say what they were all fearing.

“What if he’s in trouble?”

No one answered.

Roughly five minutes later, Nanners unmuted himself, letting them hear the tail end of the phone call.

“…ok thanks, and tell him to call one of us if you manage to get hold of him……. Yeah, me too. Thanks again man, and sorry about all this…. Ok, bye.”

The pause was brief before the man spoke once more.

“Right, so Evan isn’t in Canada as far as any of his family are aware of, and his brother’s gunna call around and see if he can find him. But other than that, nothing.” The eldest of the group sounded put out, Jon easily sympathising. Where the hell could the man have gone?

“Right, Craig, can you contact the local police? It will help you’re in the area, and we can at least get a case started in case Matthew can’t find him,” Brock stated, sounding business like. They were lucky one of their friends new how to function in the real world, Moo having a child and all. It made it easier to have him in charge, instead of the blind leading the blind.

“Can do,” Mini chirped back eagerly.

“Make sure you get a case number dude, that way I can give it to his family if need be, Matt left me a contact number,” Nanners shot in, plan easily forming. It wasn’t long before they were waiting once more, this time for nearly an hour before Mini came back, Nanners speaking just before the Brit could.

“Just got a text, no one in Canada has any clue where he is.” Jon’s heart sank.

“Well the police know,” Craig gave back, “say to get his family in contact with them. Case number’s 85348625 Nanners.”

Jonathan sat back then, sliding his headphones away from his ears. It all seemed a bit too much, having the police involved, situation becoming twice as serious in an instant, leaving the man reeling.

It was hard to imagine Evan having to be hunted down by the police. Surely the man couldn’t have gotten into trouble, he barely left the house unless it was for food or the gym. He must have just gotten caught up in some side project or something, forgotten to message them. Or maybe his phone was dead or broke?

Whatever it was, Jon just prayed it wasn’t serious.


	2. News

Three days later and Jonathan still hadn’t heard anything new. He had left the call pretty sharpish when they had begun discussing possible locations, uneager to let his thoughts spiral into potentially dangerous territory, but texting Moo to make sure he was kept updated. And now he was sat playing Uno with Toonz, Ohm, and Gorilla, session quieter than usual.

He knew it was due to three of the players all waiting for information, but they needed to get good footage in order to put food on the table, so he was trying his best to stay upbeat. But he couldn’t bring life to Ohm, who was unusually quiet and soft, not even trying to badly act about his cards. The rabbit themed man was practically radiating worry, which lead to Cartoonz easing back on the throttle, the man acting softer towards their masked friend.

Jon had thought it was a long shot to try and record, but his fears were confirmed when Ohm got Uno only to be plus-foured by Rilla, but instead of yelling in outrage, the man just let out a quiet ‘oh’.

He sat back with a sigh then, abandoning his controller to rub his hands across his face, feeling exhausted. He barely even noticed Gorillaphent asking what the fuck was up with them, instead letting his eyes slide shut as the game returned to the start screen. He hadn’t slept, finding his dreams plagued with Vanoss, usually in mortal peril of some kind. He felt useless just sitting around, unable to help, but that didn’t stop his sleep from haunting him.

“I’m gunna go guys,” he suddenly blurted out, unable to sit still. “Talk to y’all later.” It was rough and blunt, but he couldn’t find it in him to feel guilty as he hung up, shooting Cartoonz a quick text to tell him he’d be over in twenty.

He trusted the man not to snitch on him, and he was so fed up of the walls in his house, he just had to get out. He barely paused to put on his shoes and jacket before he was out the door, climbing into his car and jamming it in reverse, leaving his driveway behind in a cloud of tyre smoke. Toonz always said he set off too violently, but he frankly couldn’t be pissed to care.

His phone started buzzing half way there, rapid text pings coming from his pocket, but Jon just ignored it. No point getting in a wreck for something he could find out in ten minutes. But that horrible feeling of dread crept back up his throat as the noise continued, distracting him to the point where he nearly drove past Luke’s house.

The feeling worsened when Jon spotted Toonz stood ready in his doorway, face distraught. He pulled out the device as he climbed from his car, heart nearly stopping as he saw the mess that was his notifications. One stood out, like gold against dirt.

MOO: NBC News NOW

Blue connected with dark brown, instantly understanding the urgency held within.

**_Vanoss._ **

He let Luke lead him to the TV, when the news was already screening, chest tightening almost painfully when his gaze met a familiar photo. It was a rather old one, the tanned man donned in a suit and grinning. His hair was in the old faux hawk Evan used to prefer, but those features were unmistakable.

 It was Evan grinning fixedly at him, and it took Jon a moment to focus on the information scrolling across the screen. It didn’t give him much other that telling him the man was still missing and giving an information hotline he had no hope of remembering. Changing his focus once more, he finally listened to the woman presenting, determined to gain all the information.

“…youtuber has apparently been missing since last Wednesday, but that was only reported this Thursday. Police have been reported to have found traces on the Mr Fong near his home, but a search of the house yesterday has so far yielded no results. There are speculations on whether the popular gamer has been kidnapped, and may be held for ransom, but we have had no confirmation on this. We go live to Caroline on the scene.”

The imaged switched to what Jonathan assumed was the Canadian’s house, considering he’d never seen it, sounded by various cop cars, lights flashing in tandem. There was a crowd of paparazzi, all scrambling to get the best shot. But the camera focused on a short woman holding a microphone, words spilling out of her mouth before Jon could register.

“Thank you, Susan. As you see, we are outside Mr Fong’s current residence, which Police entered last night in hopes of locating the missing man. They searched the home after failing to find him, and then moved onto the surrounding area. There has been word about a gym bag being found nearby, but we are currently unable to confirm whether or not this did belong to Fong.”

The woman paused for a moment, and the camera panned away to s crowd gathering on the next street.

“Fans of the VanossGaming channel have been gathering as the day wears on but are currently being held behind police lines out of fear of disturbing any evidence of Fong’s whereabouts.”

Jon tuned out then having heard enough. Cartoonz was frantically messaging next to him, probably to the group chat if his own phone was anything to go by. He knew he should see what the others were saying, but suddenly his energy was drained, leaving him feeling rather flat. The couch practically called his name as he collapsed onto the surface, head bending easily to allow his hands to burrow into his hair.

**_What the fuck do they do now?_ **

Pale hands yanked at his hair, doing nothing to help his growing headache or frustration. This was a lot worse that he originally thought. Evan was meant to just be camping out in his house, too distracted to notice the outside world, allowing for an easy fix and a gulit trip to be delivered to the Asian man. But now police were searching his house and people were thinking he had been kidnapped?

Jon couldn’t even imagine someone trying to nab his beefcake of a friend, hell, he had seen videos of Evan arm wrestling Tyler and the younger’s biceps were frankly _huge._ He wasn’t someone you could just pick up and carry off like a child. But the gym bag grated on his senses, the distinct knowledge that Evan always goes to the gym on Tuesday making his hands sweat with nerves. Anything could’ve happened on his walk back, including a mugging gone wrong…

 ** _Stop it Jonathan_** he growled to himself, tugging once more at his locks. They were starting to get a bit long, but getting a haircut was last on his list of things to worry about at the moment. He needs to focus, which had never been his expertise, but now it was more important than ever. Evan was gone, and they now knew he was most likely in trouble and probably hurt.

Just the thought made him feel sick to his stomach, eyes automatically locking back onto Evan’s picture once it reappeared, tracing the familiar features. The younger had often complained it was unfair that he didn’t get to see Jon’s face despite the fact the elder could see his at any time. The laughter and frankly Canadian nature of the man help Jonathan see his friend was just joking, Evan being one of their only friends to not complain about him not meeting the group.

But now he sat scanning the frozen features, wondering if he lost his chance to ever meet the man in person.

Luke suddenly slumped next to him, his brother looking completely exhausted. The younger of the two stared, question in his eyes, getting a sigh in return.

“They’re’ll freaking out, which I get. Ohm is pretty determined he’s dead, and Brock nearly killed Kryoz for bringing up trafficking.” Jon flinched at the thought, earning a sympathetic look. “I know right, bunch of fucking pessimists.”

Jon couldn’t help but wonder if it was pessimism or just realism. He hoped it was the latter, for Evan’s sake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Doing this instead of uni work. Why do I always start new stories just before exam season is about to start?


	3. The Bag and Rewards

Their lives became chaos after the news was broke to the rest of the world. Fans were quick to make and link articles about Vanoss’ disappearance, and it took no time at all for the tag #VanossisMissing to start trending on twitter. The crew had endless tweets, comments, and even emails asking if they knew and for details that the public wouldn’t know. Jon’s phone wouldn’t stop vibrating for two hours, until he turned off his notifications, unable to take the repetitive motion.

But when he finally read the messages, he couldn’t help feeling useless, knowing that he and his friends knew little more than the media. He also knew they others were getting it much worse, said media trying fruitlessly to get various information and interview with them. He had seen the footage of Wildcat storming out of a store after being hounded by people with microphones and cameras, loud swearing just adding fuel to the fire that was their twitter accounts.

Terroriser had eventually made a video for them all, explaining (with everyone’s permission of course) how while they were worried, they didn’t have any information, and that if anyone did, to call the hotline. Everyone in the group linked it to all of their social media accounts, getting an overwhelming response of support and good wishes. All their fans seemed to band together, increasing their subscriber counts, and making Brian’s video one of the highest viewed the man had ever had.

Jonathan was floored by the support they were getting, the majority of his comments either hoping he was still in good health, or people praying for the safe return of his friend. It made his eyes water every time he read them, both warmed by the support and hurt by the reminder. He had taken to checking his sub box every day, praying for a video from Vanoss or Rynx, but both channels remained silent.

But nothing hurt as much as hearing the man’s voice repeat the same words, too cheerful for the situation.

“Hey, this is Evan. I obvious can’t answer, but don’t bother leaving a message, because I never listen to them. Text me, and I’ll get back to you when I can. Peace!”

Delirious had the voicemail memorised now, having also started calling the other daily since seeing the news at Luke’s, unable to just sit back and wait for more news. The elder man had just sat gazing at him that day, pity in his eyes, as Jon sat ringing his friend, shoulder’s stiffening every time it went to voicemail. He must have called over fifty times in one sitting, only stopping when his phone finally died, slumping with defeat. Luke hid his keys, so he was forced to stay with his brother, the man making sure he ate and slept, processing power only returning the next day.

And things just kept getting worse from there.

* * *

 

Exactly two weeks after Evan first vanished, Nanners’ brought news that the bag found was indeed the Canadian’s, the police having found his ID inside. That was nothing more than a quick message on the group chat, the man still their only connection to the Fong family, despite how busy he was. It was decided then to pass the contact over to Brock, as he was both one of the people who had known Evan the longest, and one of the most sensible of the group.

At sixteen days, the reward was announced. Jon sat once more on Luke’s couch, watching a man who could only be described as Evan’s older clone, identified by the banner as Evan’s father, a man by the name of Lee Fong. He stood tall on the podium in the police press room, but Jon could see the exhaustion in the man’s eyes that were the exact shade of Vanoss’s. The man carried himself in the same way as his son, shoulders wide and strong, arms steady as he held up his notes, not letting anyone see the peril he had to be going through.

There was no sign of the rest of Evan’s family, but Moo had told them they had being staying in L.A., wanting to be closer to the people investigating the case. Jon had to wonder how they were coping with it all. Hell, he was struggling enough having his internet friend gone, let alone having a family member missing. And now to stand up in front of the press and speak publicly about it… well, that was braver than he could ever hope to be.

“Good Morning,” Mr. Fong began, voice strong and with a no-nonsense tone only a father could carry. If it wasn’t for his practically identical features, Jon would wonder how such a trolling natured man was the son with such a seemingly strict father. “I thank you all for your presence here today. As you know, I have called this conference to discuss the disappearance of my son, Evan. There has been no secret about the matter, and I would like to take the time to thank all those who have benefitted from his hard-worked videos for your overwhelming support during this difficult time. Both my family and myself are extremely grateful for this kindness and know Evan would be too if he could see it.”

“Secondly, I would like to announce that there is now a reward up for any information to do the whereabouts of my son that leads to his location. The total sum received would be twenty-five thousand dollars and would be paid upon result of the information. We ask that no false claims are made, as they would take up valuable time and resources to investigate.”

The man paused then, taking a deep breath and straightening his shoulders. There was a flash of determination in those coffee coloured eyes, so familiar to Jon he nearly started, Luke pressing closer when he felt him tense. They exchanged a glance, mentally bracing themselves for what was to come.

“Lastly, I would like to put out a message for Evan himself,” Lee began again, gaze locking with the primary camera, passion suddenly bleeding from every action. “Son, if you can hear this, I just want you to know we aren’t giving up. We don’t know where you’ve gone or why, but we won’t stop until we bring you home, back to your mother, Matt, Alex, and myself. If you can, call us or the police, and we’ll come and get you.”

Another pause, this time accompanied by aged features softening.

“We… we love you Evan.” A slight crack in tone came then, hitting Jon like a knife to the chest at the emotion seeping though, the pain, the sorrow. “We love you so much and please… Please, just come home.”

The room was silent enough to hear a pin drop, both in L.A. and in Greensboro. Jon couldn’t breathe, chest tight and eyes locked onto the man that had helped bring life to one of his best friends, both seeing and feeling his pain, his desperation. It was maddening, the silence like a scream of the hopelessness, the lack of leads they had to go on, and Delirious wondered if it was his mind or his heart cracking that he could feel.

Lee suddenly relaxed, mask falling back into place where there had once been so much information. He cleared his throat, thanking the press, before swiftly swinging around to walk away. Noise suddenly exploded, questions being shouted forth, but the senior Fong just disappeared through a door, leaving an attending investigator to reiterate the hotline number should anyone have potential leads.

Jon hoped that would be the last of it, that someone would take the money, but day twenty brought even more bad news, now in the form of Brock giving them new information. He had gathered them all on the group discord, urgency in his voice making the group drop all of their obligations to hear the man out. Delirious’s heart sank the second he saw Moo’s face, both in the fact the man had used facecam, which he rarely did, and the look of despair on his face. He couldn’t stop his leg jiggling with nerves as he waited for the last few people to join the call, all of them remaining near silent as they waited for what looked to be bad news.

Eventually, the final bleep came through, Nogla speaking out.

“I’m here,” the Irishman murmured softly, sounding almost afraid to break the peace. “Everyone else here?”

Brock sighed heavily, rubbing a pale hand across his face.

“Yeah, everyone’s here,” he murmured, sounding exhausted. “I suppose I should get this over with then.”

The tension rocketed, chair creaking as Jonathan started leaning forward, as if it would urge the elder man on. But it didn’t help, the man making several false starts before managing to explain.

“Evan’s gym bag,” Moo finally uttered, eyes looking suspiciously bright. “His ID wasn’t the only thing they found with it. There was a handprint too… a bloody handprint.”

Several intakes of breath could be heard, Jon’s over chest constricting as Brock continued.

“They’re pretty sure the print isn’t Evan’s, but when they tested them blood… it came back as a match.”

The breathy “no” was out of his lips before he could stop it, eyes watering furiously when he heard Ohm’s cry of despair. Only Brian could ask what they were all thinking, man looking torn on his own facecam.

“So… he’s dead?” Jon flinched at the words, feeling them grate sharply against his exposed emotions. It was like a knife in a fresh wound, doubling the pain as it hit rare nerve endings. The world seemed distant until Brock spoke once more, now looking conflicted.

“No necessarily. There was no other blood around the bag or anything, but that also doesn’t mean anything, but they don’t think it’s enough to prove anything like that. All it does mean is that he was or is hurt, and that shortens their time frame to hope to find him still ok.” Moo looked so torn, as if wanting to stay hopeful but having the odds stacked against it.

“What now?” Lui whispered, sounding as childlike as his squeaker voice. Moo just shrugged, face falling once more as he buried his face into his hands, body screaming that he was a broken man. Jon struggled to think of anything to say, feeling as hopeless as he did. **_What chance of finding Evan did they have now?_**

Luckily and surprisingly, Smii7y spoke instead.

“We keep looking,” the youngest began, sounding firm. “If Evan’s still out there, he needs us now more than ever. We speak to millions of people every day, so we of all people have the best chance of finding someone who knows something.”

Silence fell once more, shock at hearing such a forceful statement from their friend. But Jon couldn’t help but join in.

“He’s right,” he stated, back straightening. “Vanoss is countin’ on us, and we’ve gotta try.”

Several murmured agreements came forth then, a sliver of hope worming its way back into their minds. They left the chat shaken but determined, all thanking Brock in turn for telling them and making him promise to keep them updated. Jon clicked off with a plan forming in his mind, pulling up Vanoss’s YouTube page and his twitter, settling in for the long run.

* * *

 

When the sun finally rose, he sat back with a sigh, having sent several carefully worded tweets, and listened to every video Evan had uploaded or been in over the past month, hunting for clues of the Canadian’s whereabouts. His search proved fruitless, but his rapidly increasing re-tweet count made him feel as if he had achieved _something,_ even if it was only reaching out to his subscribers.

He was just considering logging off when his own sub box alerted him to Ohm’s latest video. He hovered his mouse over it, jaw dropping when he saw the title.

**FACE REVEAL BARGIN**

Blinking rapidly, he clicked on the link, screen immediately taking him to footage of Rainbow: 6 Siege, his friend’s voice filling his ears.

“Hi guys, welcome back,” Ohm began, sounding nervous. “Right, so I’m sure a lot of you are wondering what on earth the title is about, and I promise you all that it isn’t clickbait. I just wanted to use my success on YouTube to do something other than making money for one. As I am sure you all know, my friend Evan, also known as VanossGaming, is currently missing. If you don’t watch his videos, I know you would have seen him in several of mine, such as Golf it and Uno.”

“Now, I want to do you all a deal. Me and my friends are all very worried about Evan and are frankly desperate for information that could help up find him. Currently there is a twenty-five-grand reward for information, but I wanted to sweeten that even more. So, in exchange for information that leads to us finding Evan, I am willing to give whoever it is that tells us the info, a fully edited and high-quality face reveal video of me. You would be allowed to upload this to any video or social media platform you wish, using your own account.”

“Now I know I’m not the most popular YouTube gamer out there, but two million subs ain’t nothing to shake your head at. I’d say it was a pretty good deal considering I was never planning on revealing my face, and I am known as the masked gamer. So, if you have any information, please call the hotline currently on screen. Your details will be taken, and I’ll be able to find you through Evan’s family. Thank you all for your support in all this, and I’ll do my best to keep everyone updated. Bye for now!”

Jon sat back, feeling numb. He prayed Ohm knew what he had just let himself in for, having experienced some of the hell that came with teasing a face reveal, but he also wondered if he should be doing the same. He had five times the subs the Chicago man had, and requests about his appearance daily. But the idea of being forced to show his face, even for a good cause, made him squirm in his seat, hood being pulled up protectively. He felt terrible for his lack of bravery, but he didn’t even know if it would help, and the idea of risking the onslaught that would come with the suggestion alone was enough to put him off. He would just have to hope Ohm was successful.


	4. Insanity

If Delirious had previously wondered if he was crazy, he was certain now. There was no reasonable excuse for what his brain had created this time, and it was only getting worse as the days passed by, if Luke’s increasingly concerned looks were anything to go by. Jon knew he should tell his brother, but he had no idea how to explain this to himself, let alone anyone else. It had all seemed so simple in the beginning…

It all started with a recording session a month after Evan had vanished, Bryce having persuaded him to join them in Scribblio, despite his hatred of the game. He had never been the greatest at spelling, and the game brought out the worst in him, much to his friends’ amusement, but no one could resist Bryce’s cheerful attitude and innocent voice. But twenty minutes in he was already regretting his decision.

“I don’t wanna play this shit!” he yelled angrily, failing for the sixth time to spell champagne. Toonz and Bryce were roaring with laughter, managing to ramp up his fustrations.

“Right-click Delirious,” Ohm suggested urgently, merely confusing him further. **_Right-click what?_**

The thought obviously left his mouth as Squirrel jumped in then, yelling “the word!” but it was too late. He had already hit enter, leaving his attempted shampain for all to see. The laughter increased by a tenfold then, echoing in his ears.

“What-what the fuck is that,” Cartoonz spluttered, almost wheezing with laughter, the not so innocent Bryce joining in.

“You’re close! You’re close, try again,” the youngest cheered, teasing tone obvious. Delirious nearly growled then, finally pushed over by the clear Canadian voice that hit his eardrums.

“Meowtaaaaiiinnssss,” made him snap before he even thought about the implications.

“Shut the fuck up Vanoss,” he snarled. It was the wall of silence he met after that made him pause and realise, mood dropping like a rock in water. The shift left him disorientated, blinking at his screen as the timer hit zero, revealing the word to his now unfocused gaze. **_The fuck?_** A rustling noise brought him back to the discord call, Squirrel finally speaking.

“Ummm…. What was that?” Unwilling to admit he had just heard a missing man as clear as day, he struggled for an excuse.

“N-nothing, nothing at all. I didn’t say shit, don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jon babbled, panic rising in his chest. It was only Ohm’s soft voice breaking through that made him calm.

“It’s alright Delirious,” the masked man whispered, empathy forefront. “We miss him too.” Silence fell once more, a feeling of shared sorrow setting over them, reminding Jon that he wasn’t the only one who was feeling the loss of their friend.

The game eventually continued, but the session ended up being much more subdued, everyone distracted by their own thoughts. Jon was trying to work out why exactly it had sounded like Evan was talk to him through his headset, rather than the usual memory like form in which his intrusive thoughts gave him. It was so clear, as if the man was stood next to him, making Jon forget, just for a moment, the fact that it was impossible.

Three hours after the session ended, he managed to brush it off as lack of sleep, having only gotten a couple hours the previous night. He went to bed soon after, hoping to sleep off the feeling of dread that was sneaking up his spine.

Another week passed without incident or news, but then when recording Fortnite, it happened again. Nogla had been screaming for someone to revive him, before finally bleeding out, shouting about how they were all shit teammates, before moving onto his kill count.

“TEN kills, bitches, why te FOCK didn’t you revive me?” The man hollered, ignoring Tyler telling him to shut up. “Ten fuckin’ kills!”

Without missing a beat, Jon heard it.

“Off seeeaaaasssssoonn.” He physically flinched, fingers faulting leading to him getting shot, placing their team in twelfth. He ignored Brian asking him what the hell had happened, dumping his controller to run his hands across his face, eyes squeezing shut. The automatic reply that had occurred last time was over ruled by the pain that came with the absence of his friend, making his jaw tighten and eyes water.

Brian repeated his question, now sounding more concerned than mad, hushing Tyler when he complained. Jon blinked rapidly, trying to focus back on his screen, quick to give an excuse.

“Sorry, finger slipped. Haven’ slept in a while,” he croaked, terrible sleeping habits coming to his rescue. Brian seemed to accept his lie, Tyler snorting and calling him and idiot, before restarting the game.

And from then on, it just kept getting worse. The voice returned more and more frequently, until it became a daily occurrence, leaving him gasping for air each time. It was scarily life like, making him want to check the call to make sure the missing man hadn’t appeared (he’d never admit that he actually _did_ that a couple times, only to be hurt further by the lack of Asian).

Only Luke had picked up on his strange behaviour, asking him more often than not what was up, but he stayed quiet, blaming lack of sleep once more. His brother obviously didn’t believe him, but didn’t push, relying on Jon’s trust in him. But for the first time in years, he felt alone on a matter, unable to explain what was going through his head. This stuff could get him sectioned.

Slowly, he became used to the voice, reasoning he could take a small amount of comfort from the familiarity, using to lessen the strain of the gap his owl friend had left. Two months after it began, it had become a part of his daily routine, Vanoss speaking to him atleast once a day, and not even just during gaming. He could hear sassy comments as he cooked or cleaned, when he drove or scrolled through twitter, now followed by a haunting presence.

He learned to cope with it, no longer jumping or being left speechless. Luke slowly stopped giving him concerned looks, and their lives were adjusting around the still gaping hole Evan had left. The case was slowly running cold, less and less updates coming through as the weeks turned to months, their lives coming back to bite them in the asses.

They were crawling into the fifth month of Evan’s disappearance when it happened. Luke had drug him out shopping, complaining his cupboards were empty after then man had shown up and failed to find a snack. Jon complained the whole way there, mostly to bug his friend, but secretly glad for the distraction. He had spent too much time in his house as of recent, with only Vanoss’s disembodied voice for company, using the rapidly cooling weather as an excuse. But now being out, wind biting at his cheeks, he felt more alvie than he had in months.

Jon was practically pulling Cartoonz around the store, throwing random food items into the cart his brother was pushing, not really caring if it was on target or not. He almost fell into the cereal aisle, ignoring the ghost laughter than mixed with Toonz’s. It seemed as if his imagined Vanoss was as willing to laugh at him as the real one, Jon ignoring the slight warmth the sound brought. **_It’s all in your head,_** he reminded himself, gaze firmly locked onto the kid’s selection. There was so much choice, he had to physically turn his head to see everything, scanning the shelves with a determined frown.

He was considering the box of Lucky Charms when he noticed the man leaning against the shelving a few feet away, glancing at him. It was only when blue locked back onto the cereal did he freeze, head snapping back to the spot, only to find it empty. His heart was in his throat, mind racing with confusion, a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead.

Jon knew it was impossible, and wondered if he had finally lost it, because he was one hundred percent certain he had just seen Evan propped against the display of bran flakes.

He must have been staring for a while, because suddenly a hand landed on his shoulder, worried dark eyes meeting his own.

“You ok Jon?” his brother questioned, brow furrowing. “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost or some shit.”

If he had been any less shocked, Delirious might have laughed at the accuracy of the statement. Which was a bit unfair, considering they weren’t sure if Evan was dead or not, but it still managed to shock the man back into talking.

“Yeah,” he breathed, before giving himself a shake. “Yeah, ’m fine, just remembered somethin’ is all. Come on, let’s go, I’m freezing my balls off.” The silly statement gained him a snort of amusement.

“Well if you’d actually worn a jacket,” Cartoonz teased, gesturing at his ratty t-shirt. Jonathan just flipped him off, wandering towards the line of cashiers. It was only when he was home did he allow himself to react, cursing his imagination for not only haunting him with Evan’s voice, but apparently his body too. Slumping on his bed, he groaned into his pillow, swearing at whatever god out there thought this was funny.

“Busy going Delirious,” a voice teased in his ear, making his stomach churn with dread.

“Yeah,” he sighed to the empty room, wondering how the fuck he could fix this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyy guys, hope your enjoying this so far. The plan is pretty well developed in my head right now, so hopefully I'll be able to keep up on the chapters. Tell us what you think, and talk to you next time  
> Cheesewheel


	5. Living Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: stipulations about murder

Delirious was frustrated. His last six videos had been demonetised, and remained that way even after manual review, Fortnite had added a shitty new modification that mean pretty much insta-death should you be caught out, he spilt his drink on his keyboard the night before and had to order a new one, and he had managed to get in a fight with Toonz over the stupidest of shit because he couldn’t control his temper.

Having decided to avoid arguing with his other friends by going AWOL for a few days, he was left to deal with his struggles alone, recording solo horror games to try and scare the anger out of his bones. But with only his own thoughts and the disembodied voice of his still missing best friend for company, he soon found himself unwilling to do much at all, spending his days watching CSI reruns and eating junk food. At least like that he could pretend the man in the corner of his eye was really sat on his couch with him, and the sassy comments weren’t just a figment of his imagination.

He had become quite comfortable with Vanoss’s ghost like presence, now nine months since anyone had seen the Canadian. It was almost like having the man back, various Hoodini jokes and pretend insults being the focus of Jon’s entertainment, glances of a broad-shouldered and tanned figure much like following the younger’s Instagram.

He also managed to minimise the amount of times he let slip that all was not well with his brain, and his sanity was even more fractured than they knew. He was no longer answering a voice only he could hear when recording, but only last week he had looked back too long at a man he had sworn was Evan passing by, the stranger informing him to ‘keep your sinning homo eyes to yourself’ rather angrily, Jon just snorting and walking off. He had no idea how he had seen his Asian friend in the tall blond man, but somehow his brain had confused the two.

Now he was left with only his imagination for company as a pair of homeowners were murdered.

“That’s a steal, one house with two free dead bodies. Perfect for you Delirious,” came the voice, grin widening in blue peripherals.

“Perfect to pin the rest of the murders on,” he replied, throwing a new handful of popcorn in his mouth, most missing to land on his hoodie. A snort.

“Were you always this messy of an eater?” Evan asked, head turned to look at the elder. Jon kept his eyes fixed on the screen, knowing if he tried to look directly at the man, he would vanish.

“Only when I eat your mom’s pussy,” he sassed back, stuffing another handful in. That smooth laugh met his ears, making him grin around his food, before his companion replied once more.

“More like when you’re eating DICK.” Jon just flipped off the mirage, eyes rolling at the renewed laughter, unable to hold back his own giggles, nearly choking as a kernel attempted to travel down his windpipe. He eventually coughed it up, spitting back into his bowl.

“Shouldv’e know you spit,” Vanoss smirked, laughing at his spluttered offence. Jonathan growled at his friend, resisting the urge to throw his half empty bowl over the other, not wanting to accidently make him disappear. He apparently struggled enough losing the man in real life, having to create an imaginary version to replace him, but too lose that as well…

He occasionally wondered if he should tell Toonz about his insanity, or even just straight up section himself. There was no way he could put this that made it normal, seeing and hearing people that weren’t there was bad enough, let alone having conversations with them. But he couldn’t bring himself to worry his brother further, already enough of a stress on the older man’s life.

He must have been frowning, because Evan spoke once more.

“Whatcha thinking aboot?” Jon jolted slightly, eyes refocusing on a now dead cheerleader on the TV. He considered lying to the man, but doubted he’d get away with it, considering he thought him up. Grinning a bit sheepishly, he replied,

“Just wondering if I should section myself.” His joking tone helped when the younger laughed, noise loud and clear.

“Bit late for that, don’t cha think?” the Canasian teased back. “I mean, I’ve been talking to you for months.” Jon just shrugged, mumbling a ‘probably’ in return, before a light bulb came on in his head.

“There could be a prop hiding in tha’ body!” He yelled, laughing wildly at his own genius, body relaxing as Evan joined in once more.

* * *

 

It was nearing the one-year anniversary of Vanoss’s disappearance when it happened. Delirious had been playing Fortnite with Squirrel, checking out the new snowmen, and generally causing havoc for other gamers. They were having a whale of a time, Squirrel benefitting from Jon’s good mood, and Evan providing live commentary in his ear, making each kill feel like a win.

But halfway through, a disembodied voice joined their call.

“Jon, Evan’s chat, now,” was all his brother said, before disappearing. Vanoss fell silent as Squirrel addressed the other in their call.

“You should go, sounds serious,” the younger pointed out, having also heard the stress in their bearded friend’s voice. “We can pick this back up later if you want?

“Sounds good man,” Jon replied, exiting the game. “I’ll talk to you when I can.”

“Cool, keep us updated,” the other requested, before closing the discord. Now frowning, Jon started scrolling to find the Vanoss specific chat, having not been on it in months. They had stopped using it when the information had stopped coming in, but now it was active once more, flashing frantically before him. He joined the call only to have a screen full of webcams, faces all looking reluctant to find out what could potentially be bad news.

But only a few seconds after Jon joined, another window popped up, Brock’s distressed image appearing. There was silence for a few moments as their parent friend checked everyone was present, before speaking.

“The police found Evan’s blood-stained clothes on the far side of L.A. and have now officially reclassified this as a murder investigation,” Moo croaked, sounding broken. “His family are going to organise the funeral and send us all invites when they know the details.”

Silence echoed across the call, faces a mixture of shock and despair, unable to process what the man had just told them. Jon’s body felt frozen, unable to even blink as he struggled to breathe, lungs constricting.

**_Evan was dead?_ **

He knew he should have realised, the man having been missing for nearly a year, that there was little chance of him being found alive, but to have proof of the fact was more horrific than he could’ve thought.

“What?” came Ohm’s whispered question, misery making the word seem even smaller. Brock sniffled, eyes now watering as he replied.

“Apparently, they moved a dumpster for some construction work or something, and they found the clothes, ripped and shoved back there, stained. They tested the stain, and confirmed it was Evan’s blood.” Tears began sliding down Moo’s cheeks, man looking pained. “I’m sorry guys, I really wish it wasn’t true.”

“Oh Brocky,” Brian sighed, own eyes looking suspiciously bright. “It’s not your fault. None of us coulda wished tis on Evan, and it’s better we find out from you, rat’er than te news or some shit.” A soft murmur of agreement came from the group, shock slowly turning into grief. Tears began falling as the guys suddenly shut off their webcams to hide their reactions, Jon rapidly trying to blink his own back. There was a strange rushing in his ears, like water through a dam, making it hard to hear the staggered conversation coming through the call.

“What if he isn’t d-dead though,” Scotty questioned, stuttering over the dreaded fact. What if he was just hurt but survived.”

“If he was that badly hurt he would’ve needed a hospital, and everyone in the country has been checking for him or would have records of it,” Craig argued back, sounding defeated.

“Why though, why would someone do that to Evan of all people?” Anthony asked, managing to hit their thoughts on point.

“I dunno,” Tyler answered, voice wavering. “But Craig’s right. If he was hurt that bad he would need a doctor at least. And if the cops think it was murder…” Silence fell over the call, leaving Jon with his own thoughts. His personal ghost had both disappeared and fallen silent, Jonathan wondering what had happened in his real-life counterparts last moments.

He had to assume the Canadian was ambushed on his way home from the gym, mostly likely by multiple people, should they have wanted to take down the buff gamer. He wondered if it had been quick, a matter of knocking out the man and killing him quick and painless, or if Evan had been held, made to struggle as they dragged his death out…

Stomach churning, he swallowed his rapidly rising bile, burying his face in his hands and swinging his seat away from his screen. Chest tight, he squeezed his eyes shut, blocking out the quiet voices still coming through his headset. He eventually ditched it when Bryce whispered “I hope he didn’t suffer”, breath now coming in gasps as the world spun slightly. Fighting for control, he physically shook himself, praying to shake away the pain.

Eventually he managed to calm his heart rate, face feeling much wetter than ten minutes previously. Scrubbing his cheeks dry, Jon lifted his gaze, only to have bright blue lock onto chocolate brown. He flinched violently, eyes closing again. **_I’ve finally cracked,_** he though, confirming the fact when he reopened his eyes to see the same thing.

Evan was stood before him, looking solid enough to touch, arms crossed and gaze sad. He was wearing a special edition Vanoss tee and black jeans, boots laces hanging loose around his ankles. Jon managed to mute the call behind him without looking away from his young friend, both waiting for the other to speak.

Jonathan's will broke first, feeling weird finally seeing his best friend face to face, even though the other wasn’t really there.

“Why,” he croaked, voice cracking harshly in the quiet room. Evan didn’t laugh for once, just looking even sadder if possible.

“I wish I knew,” the younger replied, watching as Jon broke down into sobs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyy guys, thank you for commenting on the last chapter, knowing you guys enjoy this as much as I do helps keep me motivated when posting, and it always makes me happy to see your wonderful words :) there is a lot more to come on this one, so hang around


	6. Funeral Part I

It took a month for an innocent looking envelope with a Toronto postal stamp to fall on Jonathan’s font door mat. Inside he found a tasteful invite to a Canadian funeral home for a weeks’ time, signed by Evan’s older brother. The card was simple, not even holding an addressee, just the information needed to arrive at the right place and time. It didn’t even have the name of the deceased, most likely to ward off anyone who may have intercepted the mail.

Vanoss’s fans had been in uproar since the news broke, questions about funerals and memorials being posted near constantly. They would most likely swarm Toronto if they knew, and Jon couldn’t imagine the Fong’s having to go through that when they were meant to be mourning. So, the only evidence the invite was indeed what it was the fact it contained the worlds Ogden Funeral Home, and the signature was that of Matthew Fong.

The only unique feature of the card was a small message scrawled on the blank side of the card, making Jon’s heart break just that little more.

_He would want you to be there._

The writing style was different to that of the signature, and he had to wonder who had written it. Out of a fit of madness, he showed it to his ghost companion. Evan had just shrugged, pointing out,

“I dunno, I’m from your brain. I’ve technically never met them.”

Jon snorted then, finding it easier to laugh at his slowly decreasing mental condition than think to far into it. The full image of Evan had stayed since that fateful discord call, following him day in and out, leaving him a new shadow, a personal ghost to haunt him in his struggles. The sassy comments came less than before, brown eyes staying locked on him filled with pity as he laid in his bed, pulled down by the sheer weight of his despair. It had taken a week for Jon to get out of bed for more than a drink or the bathroom, his weight having dropped by several pounds when Luke finally came around and forced him to eat.

It had taken him another week to get back to a vaguely normal routine, discovering the rest of his friends had also gone silent online, none of them able to face recording and having to act funny for the amusement of others. A few of their subscribers protested but were quickly knocked down by the more sympathetic fans, who were flooding their notifications with messages of love and support.

Jonathan wished he strong enough to reply to their kindness, but just reading them left him emotionally drained, Evan’s quiet presence hanging over his shoulder. He had taken to sitting after these readings, gazing at his fellow gamer, scanning for the little things he knew he have to have made up, despite how many times he had attempted to memorise photos of the man. The curve of his spine, the sharpness of his hips, the sassy quirk of an eyebrow.

It was all make belief, giving him more to mourn, knowing he would never know the true way those features looked. He never tried to touch the image, not wanting to feel the heartbreak that would follow his certain failure, not wanting to see how far his insanity would stretch.

And now he was faced with the option of going to his best friend’s funeral, to say goodbye to a man he had never met, to see if that would help him heal. But he was left with the fact that he would have to show his face for the first time, finally meet his friends. Or he could just stay home, alone with the man’s ghost, slowly losing his mind.

Luke appeared that night, sitting on his couch to stare Jon down as he pattered around his conjoined kitchen, omelette rapidly becoming scrambled eggs despite his insistent swearing. He grumbled at his silent brother, pointedly ignoring the Asian man stood laughing at him.

“You could help you know,” he sassed the bearded man, rolling his eyes at the raised eyebrow he received. Shovelling eggs into his mouth, he stared questioningly at his brother, waiting for the elder to speak. Toonz finally took the signal that he should begin whatever life lesson he had in store, pulling an identical invite out of his pocket.

“You’re going,” Luke stated, waving the card in the air. Jon nearly chocked, swallowing his mouthful frantically, before turning his eyes back to the other, who was apparently not going to let him speak. “I don’t care what your excuse is, you can avoid the guys multiple ways, but you are going to this even if I have to drag you to Canada myself.”

Jonathan finally caught his breath, eyes sliding temporarily to the tanned man lounging beside his brother, curiosity infusing chocolate brown eyes. Sighing, Delirious placed his rapidly cooling dinner to the side, bright blue locking onto his brother’s darker gaze.

“I was gunna go anyway, you didn’t need t-to threaten me,” he huffed, feeling a bit putout at Luke’s shocked look. “I couldn’t not be there, could I?” Cartoonz relaxed then, running his fingers through his hair.

“So, what _are_ you gunna do about the gang?”

Jon flicked his gaze back to the Canadian once more, own grin forming at the man’s devious look. Not taking his eyes off the apparition, he replied,

“Don’t worry bout that. I’ve gotsa plan.”

* * *

 

That’s how he found himself outside of Toronto Pearson International, sweating in the hot July sunshine, black jacket absorbing the heat a bit too rapidly for his tastes. He had dug out his old graduation suit, the material a bit loose around his thinned frame, the stress of the past year having played havoc with his weight.

There were people streaming everywhere, away on various business trips and holidays, no one giving him a second glance, much to his relief. He hadn’t been this far away from home in years, and his old paranoia of being recognised was ramped up to the max, leaving him shifting nervously as he waited on his uber. He was without Luke, the man having flown up a day earlier to meet up with their friends, the gang planning on attending the event together. It would be the first time Jon had ever been in the same room as his friends, and the idea certainly wasn’t helping his sweating.

A Prius stopping in front of him knocked him from his thoughts, it taking no time for him and his companion to climb in the back, Jon’s small overnight bag being wedged between his feet. The driver only spoke to check the address, falling silent as they began to weave through Toronto’s busy express way, leaving Jon to gaze silently at his company, wondering what he was getting himself into.

Evan was sat next to him, dressed in a matching black suit, much like the one on his missing poster, Jon having woken up to the man like that, yelling at him to get his ass up and get ready. He younger had followed him to the airport, sliding unseen through check in and security, sitting in the conveniently empty seat next to Jon’s on the plan. He had been talking constantly, telling the elder about how it was easiest to spot Tyler and Nogla in a crowded place, and how the guys would have no idea that he wasn’t some random family friend. It was soothing, listening to that honey laced voice in his ear, easing Jon’s worries, and helping him forget that this was Evan’s _funeral_ he was attending.

But now in the car, just a few minutes away, his imaginary friend had fallen silent, watching the building pass by with a familiarity that didn’t exist. Jon scanned the form, curious as to whether today would be the last day he would see him, if the funeral would finally drill into his brain that his friend was gone and could never come back. It made his chest tight thinking about losing his ghostly companion, having become so used to the other’s presence. It’d belike losing Evan all over again, and Jon didn’t know if he could survive that.

It seemed to take no time at all for them to be pulling up outside, just five minutes before the service was due to start. The area seemed deserted, everyone probably already inside taking their seats. Jon thanked his driver, exiting the vehicle with the deceased, blinking in the bright sunshine, attempting to focus on the shaded doorway. There was a lone figure stood in the area, checking his watch before straightening to look directly at Jon. Swallowing, he strode forward, scanning the taller male.

Jon wouldn’t say he was short in any sense if the word, standing at a decent 6’2”, but the person gazing at him made him feel about 2 inches tall. Despite only being roughly an inch taller than the American, the other was broad shouldered and wide stanced, face serious as he stared down the approaching party. Jon paused a couple feet away, immediately recognising the shape of his nose, and the curve of his brown.

 ** _Must be Matthew,_** he realised, locking eyes with the hazel pair in-front of him, too pale to belong to the person he really wanted to see.

He must have been staring, because the other man suddenly cleared his throat, frowning in displeasure. Jon started, blinking in question, earning an exasperated sigh.

“You got an invite or what?” The question was short, full of annoyance and impatience, tanned hand being thrust out expectantly. Jon froze for a second, wondering if the man would be able to tell exactly who he was from the invite. It didn’t have his name, but he had confirmed the message was unique to him after comparing with Luke. Panic rising, he glanced sideways, but his silent companion wasn’t looking at him.

Evan was stood, shoulder’s slumped, gazing at his older brother, eyes filled with such sorrow and longing it made Jon’s heart ache for the man, mind pausing as he watched the younger. Only large fingers clicking in front of his eyes brought him back to the present, blue rocketing back to the now pissed off man.

“Seriously? I’ve got places to be, so either give us an invite, or piss off, instead of gazing into fucking space.” Now trembling, Jon swallowed his fears, fingers digging though his pocket for the now creased card. Eventually finding it, he thrust it forward, allowing Matthew to read the inside. Hazel eyes stayed disinterested until they hit what much have been the message, face smoothing into a blank look as his gaze rose to Jon’s face once more.

Brown scanned his pale face, silently logging all of his features, leaving him feeling raw with exposure. Curiosity started to leak through the elder Fong’s mask, before he finally asked,

“Are you really him? Are you Jonathan?” The use of his real name left him scrambling, so used to everyone using his gamer tag. He managed a stiff nod, observing the surprise and… relief? in the others eyes. A soft grin broke those stern features, hazel becoming rather bright as a hand was offered to him.

“Thank you, for coming I mean,” Matt began when Jon shook his hand, suddenly a lot less hostile. “Seriously, Ev…. Evan would be happy if he knew you were here today.” Pain crossed the tanned man’s face, stuck with the reminder his brother was gone. Jon’s heart squeezed, still unable to even stutter out an apology, left to silently gape at the taller. Matthew didn’t seem to notice, continuing as he ushered Jonathan through the door.

“You can sit on the right, that’s were family are. Pick any row, what ever makes you most comfortable, and don’t worry about you identity, it’s safe with us, I swear.” He nodded his thanks as they reached the doors to the service hall, overly conscious of the fact this man seemed to count him as family.

“I’ve gotta go up front, but find me if you need anything dude. I’ll talk to you later,” Matt finished, opening the door for them both and immediately vanishing up the front row to sit beside a dark haired woman, who’s shoulders were shaking with silent tears.

Jon easily found an empty seat in the back row, quietly dumping his bag beneath it, before settling with Evan to watch the proceedings. Shaking, he took a deep breath, trying to prepare himself, but knowing, truly, that this was going to hurt life a bitch.


	7. Funeral Part II

The funeral man… thing was droning on about Evan’s life, telling Jon little more than he already knew from the man himself, leaving the American to finally drag his eyes to the opposite side of the hall.

Evan had been right in telling how easy it was to spot Tyler, both him and Nogla towering above the rest despite their bowed heads. Wildcat was leaning on who had to be Kelly, the shorter woman having an arm wrapped tightly around the taller’s waist. Brock and Brian were next to him, shoulder’s pressed tightly together, faces grim, neither having their respective partners with them. Beside them was Nogla, lanky frame looking almost collapsed, the silence rare from the loud Irish gamer, Lui supporting his far side.

Scotty and Chrissy were in the row behind, tissues and tight looks being shared between them, whilst Simone cried quietly in Marcel’s arms, the balloon artist holding himself tall as he looked on with respect. Anthony was on their far side with Craig and Suni, both men’s arms thrown around the woman between them. The next row held Kryoz, fidgeting with his vape, Smii7y, looking painfully young, Sark and Nanner’s and Droidd, all exchanging looks as the proceedings went on.

The last row held his brother, Bryce, and what could only be Ohm, the masked man having his face hidden in Luke’s shoulder, body shaking with sobs, as Bryce rubbed the brown-haired man’s back. Toonz must have felt his gaze, because dark eyes suddenly glanced back to him, locking for a few seconds, before turning back to his crying friend.

Jon felt raw, finally seeing his friends in person, but able to physically feel their sorrow from across the room. It was lonely, sitting with only his invisible companion, whilst his friends supported each other, unknowing of his presence, but almost invasive to watch them whilst knowing more than the average person.

Shaking the emotion away, he refocused on the end of the man’s speech, blinking as he listened to the short summery of Evan’s YouTube career. He could help but feel as if it was a bit glossed over, considering how much of a work-a-holic it had turned the Canadian into. He loved his job and his fans, and to just say “his talents made him a very popular gamer on Youtube” was a bit shit.

But the Matthew stood, shoulder’s straight and eyes red as he took the podium. Jon glanced at his Evan, seeing the same look of pain and longing that had been there outside the building. A cleared throat brought his gaze back to the front, mentality preparing himself for the speech to come.

“Thank you to David, for his wonderful summary of my brother’s life. I would like to take a moment now to talk more about Evan himself, and the young man I was proud to call my little brother.” A pause notes page being straightened as the man collected himself before continuing.

“As I’m sure you all know, Evan was rather Unique in his personality. A mixture of prankster and serious business man, he blossomed online by using his capacity to bring out the worst in others and make it amusing for viewers. I will admit, growing up with him could, considering there was no way to get him back as the man didn’t have an angry bone in his body. I once replaced him shampoo with pink hair dye cause he replaced all my t-shirt with crop tops. He just thanked me for the change, styled it and went to school, then two weeks later, put glue in my hair gel. I mean, how can you answer that?”

Jon laughed quietly, conscious of the people in the room, but unable to hold back his mirth at Evan’s antics. Evan was grinning fondly next to him, unreadable look in his eyes as he exchanged a glance with the elder. Matt continued on, pointing out both the best and worse bits about growing up with and being related to Evan Fong, emphasing the younger’s cheeky yet soft nature.

He told them how Evan cried upon finding out he was allergic to dogs, yet laughed he fell out of a tree and broke his arm. The speech showed a side of the gamer that was familiar, whilst revealing things that only his family seemed to know. Jon learnt more and more about his friend as time went on, fleshing out his mental image of Evan, making him seem so much more than he even thought the Canadian could be.

“Evan would kill me for telling you all this, but he adored every single friend he ever made,” Matt continue, voice beginning to waver from his cheery attitude. “He’d come home from school or even L.A. chatting constantly about the funny things someone had said to them, or the new thing he had found out about their personality. He flourished in the presence of the people he chose for company, coming out of the almost shy front he put up for strangers.

“He never really let you all see his troubles, not one to be a burden on others, too interested in making them laugh or react to him. He was shocked by his popularity on YouTube, grateful for every single supporter he had, faceless or not.” Jon flinched then, noting how Matt didn’t look at him, but Ohm burst into a fresh wave of sobs. He knew it was only the two of them that hid their faces from him, but the phase, combined with his personalised invite, made the message seem all the more personal. He wondered once more why he was sat with family, and what exactly Evan had said to his brother about him.

“My brother will always remain in our hearts. His videos have immortalised his amazing personality and career, and his influence on our lives is one that I know we shall never forget. My brother may have been cruelly taken away from us, but we shall never let go of the man we knew.” Matt’s tone suddenly changed, passion and volume increasing. “You were a good man Evan, and you were loved, in fact, still are, by me, our family, your friends, and your fans. We can only hope you are now at peace little brother, and that we will get to see you again, one day. Thank you.”

And with that, Matt sat down, arm curling around his now near wailing sister, tears streaming down his own cheeks. Jon felt the moisture on his face, feeling too sad to wipe it away, eyes locked onto the grieving family in front of him. His heart was breaking into a million pieces inside of his chest, making his lungs stutter and head hurt. Evan had touched so many people in his life…

The director stood once more, thanking Matthew for his speech and began wrapping up the ceremony, gesturing to the empty coffin as he spoke of final goodbyes. He asked if they would all take a moments silence, before listening to one of Evan’s songs, as a way to send the man’s spirit onwards. Jon stood with the procession, taking the opportunity to look at Evan’s apparition for what felt like the last time. Brown eyes met his, filled with understanding as Jon tried to memorise every feature, sharp angles of that tanned face blurring from his tears. With little warning, the last song Rynx every released began playing, familiar chords of ‘Hold On’ echoing through the room.

Jon’s tears came faster then, wishing he could hold on to the man before him, hold him and never let go, as if it could pull the man back into the physical world. His fingers rose without permission, drifting towards the others face, only to slip straight through. It was like experiencing the heartbreak all over again, a quiet sob escaping his lips as he pulled back to hug himself, feeling lost.

He stayed watching Evan until the song ended, able to see the moisture building in the younger’s eyes, unable to do shit about it. He only looked away once the main guy spoke once more, directing them to leave through a side door and pass onto the next room where food and drink would be available.

Jon stood watching as family then friends trailed out pass the coffin, some pausing to whisper quiet words, or running a hand over the shining wood. Wildcat and Brock paused together, the taller giving the surface a brotherly pat, Brock murmuring something that made Brian give a wobbly smile from behind them. The other’s all seemed to have something to say before moving on, Cartoonz practically carrying Ohm as the man bawled his own goodbye, Bryce stood silently behind, young face crumpled with pain.

Once everyone had disappeared through the door, Jon began to move forward, eyes locked on the picture sat on top of the box, Evan’s easy grin facing him. He couldn’t hold back from touching the smooth mahogany, tracing the name plate, a sense of finality hitting him. This was really it. Evan was gone from their lives. Tears continued to fall, heart as empty as the silent room, waves of exhaustion breaking over him. He sighed, eyes refocusing on the image as he tried to scrub the worst of his tears away.

“Good-“ his voice cracked, making him clear his throat before continuing. “Goodbye Vanoss. You know I don’t really believe in heaven or no shit, but I hope you’re at p-peace and shit. I… I’m really gunna miss you man.”

And with that, he gave the coffin one last pat, turning to walk out the door. He was stopped though, by the very man he had just said goodbye to, arms crossed and expression distraught.

“I’m so sorry,” was all Evan said, sounding more serious than Jon had ever heard. The elder man just let out a wet chuckle, accepting that this was his life now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyy guys, wanted to thank you all for your support for this fic. I actually put a lot of time into my chapter, being both a perfectionist and a slow typer, I also research my physical facts such as airports, flights, and even funeral homes for this one. But your wonderful support makes it all worth while, and I hope your still enjoying it.  
> Talk to y'all next time,  
> Cheesewheel


	8. The Wake

Jon finally slunk into the next room, noting the multiple soft looking couches and chairs, bypassing them all for the end bar stool, perfectly situated to both see the whole room, and use the back wall as a rest. He down his first whiskey with little thought, nursing the second as he watched Brian approach the counter. The Irishman didn’t spare him a glance as he ordered a variety of drinks, forking over several crumbled bills as he immediately downed two of them, loading the rest onto a tray.

Blue eyes followed the man as he returned to the group, handing out various drinks, forcing the coke into Nogla’s hand, the taller Irishman curled out a plate of finger food, merely poking at it when Lui nudged him. The squeaker shared a worried look with Droidd, two tanned men bracketing the paler. Jon didn’t think he had ever heard the group be so quiet for so long, only gentle murmurs being exchanged as they sat together, nibbling at tiny sandwiches and sausages. Ohm was still draped over Cartoonz, but now facing outwards.

Jon took the opportunity to learn his fellow hidden gamer’s face, scanning the sharp cheekbones and flushed pale flesh, noting Ryan’s soft brown eyes that matched his styled hair. His grey suit clung to the tall and lanky frame, legs long enough to nearly put him on eye level with Toonz curl close to his chest, stubbled chin resting on his knees. Despite most likely being the same height as Jon, he couldn’t help but think the man looked tiny tucked beneath his brother’s arm, face tight and tear streaked.

Time ticked by slowly, Evan’s brother and father making rounds between the guests whilst his sister and Mom stayed tucked together in the corner. No one bothered Jonathan in his corner, merely giving him a sad look should they catch his eyes whilst waiting for drinks. He had made it through two more whiskeys by the time Matt and Lee finally reached the gang, by which point Brock was the only think keeping Terroriser upright, the having had about eight drinks on a most likely empty stomach.

The room having emptied a decent bit, Jon could easily overhear the conversation being held.

“I wish we could have met under better circumstances,” Matthew began, draw the attention of the group. “Evan never stopped talking about you guys, even got me into watching your videos. You guys were the best friends he could’ve ever asked for, and for that, we you a great debt.”

“We were lucky to have him in our lives,” Brock replied, shifting Brian so he could stand and shake the two men’s hands. “I’m Brock by the way.” Matt grinned.

“Oh, we know who you all are. You’ve got the baby girl, right?”

“Yeah, she’s at home with the wife, Laura’s not great with travelling with her health and all.” Brock shrugged, looking a bit sheepish. Lee stepped forward then, brushing away the younger’s concern.

“No worry, we must keep our families safe and well, mustn’t we? I often wonder if things would be different if I hadn’t let Evan go running off to L.A….” the elder sighed, looking pained, before shaking himself. “It doesn’t do well to wonder on if and buts although. I will admit, I am not as familiar with your video’s as my son, despite having heard the same stories from Evan, and I don’t think I could forgive myself if I didn’t put some faces to names.”

There was a slight joke in Lee’s voice, contrasting sharply with the front he had put up on camera all those months ago. Jon watched closely as Brock introduced everyone in turn, hands being shook, Nanner’s getting a special thanks for being the one to get in contact when Evan had first managed. There was a pause at Ohm, Brock faltering as if waiting for the gamer’s permission. Ohm seemed to have no qualms, lifting himself away from Toonz to shake hands with the Fongs.

“Hi I’m Ryan, or Ohm as these guys call me. I… I’m so sorry about Evan. He was a good friend to us all.”

Matt gave a nod of understanding, before replying, “You’re the guy who offered up his face reveal. Gotta say, the leads were streaming in after that. Just a shame none of them ever came to head.”

“Yeah, that was me,” Ohm chuckled wetly, shoulder’s slumping. “I wanted to offer what I could, No matter the consequences. I just didn’t realise people would be so crazy about it.” At the curious looks given to him, Ryan elaborated. “People are saying the terms I gave were invalid, so I should do a reveal anyway. Don’t seem to understand that we’re all struggling enough with Evan gone from our lives. I mean, the dude was a great friend, and it’s hurt us all losing him.”

Brian decided that was the best time to cut them all off, body swaying as he sat up behind Brock.

“He was an arsehole,” the man slurred, oblivious to the horrified looks from his friend. Hell, Jon was pretty sure his jaw was hanging open. “Dude would dick any of us over for a laugh, ‘nd you all know it. Stupid prick made my life a living hell, turning map makers, my so-called friends, and even my fans against me!” Both Lee and Matt’s jaws were now clenched, death glares pinned on Brian’s unfocused gaze.

“And who exactly are you?” Lee snapped, looking ready to punch the Irishman. Brian laughed a bit manically, struggling to stand, before being forced down by Brock. But even their Mom friend couldn’t stop the next words that came.

“I’m Terroriser, Evan’s number one piss takee. Trough everything tat son of a bitch made me t’e butt of his jokes, and do you know what? Even trough all that, I still miss the stupid git.” Tears were spilling once more from blue, voice beginning to wobble. “I miss him so fucking much I can’t record without tinking of his stupid face, and for focks sake, Brock why did he have to go?” The last word came as a wail, man breaking down into the elder’s arms, drunkenly sobbing his heart out.

Brock shot the older two an apologetic look, looping an arm around the crying man, rubbing his back soothingly.

“Alight Bri, I think it’s time we get you to bed,” Moo soothed, pulling them to their feet. Matt and Lee shared a knowing look, Lee giving a lopsided grin so familiar Jon’s heart throbbed.

“I think that’s probably best. Thank you all for being here today, and have a safe journey home,” the elder stated, eyes warm and tired.

As the guys gathered their stuff, checking for phones and keys, Wildcat’s long legs carried him toward the retreating Fong’s, lightly hooking Matt’s arm. Hazel eyes met ice blue, questions being held in both.

“What’s happening with Evan’s channel?” Wildcat asked, straight to the point. The other’s all paused, listening in, as the men exchanged another look.

“We’ve asked YouTube to Archive it in his honour, so his videos remain up, but no one can hack it and edit anything. Dude we spoke to sounded like a fan, said he would see what he would do.” A large tanned hand reached up, gripping the American’s shoulder in understanding. “Don’t worry dude, we won’t let them take it down.”

Tyler nodded then, clapping the other’s shoulder, before turning to walk away, Kelly Jogging to catch him. Jon just spotted the small arm wrapping around the taller’s waist before the door swung shut, leaving the rest of the group to gather their things and follow several paces behind. Jon watched them go, draining his own glass, before grabbing his stuff to leave. Wandering away, fingers typing into the UBER app, he didn’t notice the Canadian man until he was being yanked to the side by him, brotherly arm swinging around his shoulders.

“Come with me,” was all Matt said, before leading him towards the back of the building. They followed a ridiculously twisty corridor in silence, the elder ignoring Jon’s curious looks as he pulled him forward, finally stopping by a door that claimed to be ‘The Family Room’. The door was silent as it swung inwards, revealing the room’s only occupant, the pretty dark hair woman, that could only be Evan’s twin sister Alex. Vanoss’s brown irises glared at the pair of men, thin face streaked with shining tracks, eyes bloodshot.

“What now Matt? I told you I wanted to be alone,” Alex snarled, brow furrowed in barely controlled fury. Jon couldn’t help but flinch, feeling raw to the younger’s emotion, but Matt stayed calm, staring down his younger sister with a look of pity.

“I know, but I thought you’d like to meet this guy,” the eldest soothed, hands out in a placating gesture. Alex just continued frowning, flipping her long black locks over her shoulder.

“No offense, but right now, I don’t give a shit about whichever random dude you invited. I just want to be left to mourn my brother in peace.” And with that, Alex turned he back on them, conversation clearly finished. Matt just sighed, hand out towards Jon. The American looked at the appendage in confusion, wondering what on earth he was meant to do, until the elder finally spoke.

“Invite,” Matt stated, sounding exasperated, waiting patiently as Jon fumbled the crumpled card out of his pocket. He stayed by the safety of the door as the man approached his sister, kneeling before the woman to show her the written words inside.

At first, Alex refused to look, shoving weakly at the other’s hand, before finally giving in to look. She stayed frowning for a moment, before hitting the should be blank side of the card, face dropping all expression as she read the message. Jon saw Evan shift beside him, face a mirror of his sister’s, twin sets of eyes both full of pain.

Alex suddenly stood, striding with purpose towards Jonathan, extruding the same confidence Evan did when he was planning a prank. Jon almost shrank back when she got close, fire in that familiar gaze making him feel tiny in front of the 5’5’’ woman. But then small arms were wrapping round his waist, mascara streaking on his white shirt, as Alex attempted to squeeze the life out of him.

So unused to being hugged by any one that wasn’t Luke, Jon ended up stood stiff as a brick, awkwardly patting the shorter’s back, unsure if he should be comfortable with this or not. Eventually she let go, fresh tears on smooth cheeks.

“Thank you,” she gasped, body shaking with emotion. “I didn’t- I didn’t know if you’d come, cause of your face and stuff, but I had to ask. Evan, he, _hic,_ he fucking adored you.” Tears were streaming at this point, sobs shaking both of their forms. The dark head shook at his incredulous look, hands furiously trying to wipe away the falling moisture.

“Don’t give me that look, I know- _knew,_ knew my brother. I had never heard him talk about someone so much, let alone someone he had never actually met,” the woman ranted, hands flailing a bit wildly. “He fucking thought the sun shined out of you ass, to the point when he called me regularly when you guys couldn’t play together, just to complain. He had never let anyone see him that vulnerable, and to suddenly start doing that? That means you must have been something pretty fucking special to him.”

Jon stood froze, bright blue locked onto mocha brown, shock coursing through his veins. He knew he and Vanoss were close, probably closer than to any of the others (with the exception of Toonz of course), but to have Evan… talk about him like that, made his heart break even further. The new information left him stood stiff, unable to comprehend how much his friend _cared_ about him.

And it was only that night, when he was lying in the too soft hotel bed, did he remember their three-month lack of conversation, and realise Evan may have just missed him as much as Jon missed the Canadian.

And with that, he cried himself to sleep.


	9. Coping

His phone lit up with a message from Nogla, informing him they were waiting on his own presence before the session started. It was to be the first recording session since Evan’s murder investigation began, a week after they had all travelled to Canada for the funeral. He, Daithi, Wildcat and Fourzero were meant to be playing FortNite together, money having been run to a minimum, life determined to move of despite their loss.

It had been agreed a couple weeks previously to use a banner at the beginning of all their next videos to honour Vanoss, like wearing a black armband in sports. They had all chipped in to get a design they all liked, encompassing all the things they felt described Evan best, including owls, Hoodini, Gmod, and various phrases of the younger. It also contained all of their characters, expressions happy as they huddled around Evan’s GTA owl, the gang a whole.

It was beautifully done, some of the best fan art Jon had ever seen, and left him in tears for an afternoon, discussing all the references with his imaginary friend. Vanoss’s ghost had remained with him, quieter than before, less sassy comments and more pitying looks which made Jon want to scream. He didn’t his friend’s pity, he wanted him back in his life.

So he sat, booting up his computer, the light of the screen hurting his eyes. Soon enough he had the game loaded up, mouse hovering over the accept call button on Discord, not really sure why he was hesitating. The call blinked impatiently, Fortnite lobby screen appearing on his main screen, but still he didn’t move.

“What’s wrong?” Evan asked from his side, perched on the edge of his desk, eyes curious. Jon just blinked back, head tilting.

“’M not sure…” he murmured back, dread rising with his effort to click the button. “Doesn’ make sense.”

It’s not as if he had played much Fortnite with Vanoss, probably having a max of four games with the Canadian. But the idea of having to act his usual cheery and ridiculous self, left him feeling sick to his stomach, screen blurring in front of his eyes. He must have sat for a good five minutes, pushing himself to click, feeling Evan’s gaze burn into his side.

But when Nogla text him to hurry up, he ended up logging out, hurriedly typing out an excuse of tiredness to the Irishman before shutting down his computer once more, ducking out of his office to hide in his bed, ignoring the vibrations of his phone and the man following him.

He fell asleep scrolling twitter several hours later, dreaming about zoos and mazes, and chasing a figure hiding in his peripherals. He woke to find his phone dead and bedroom empty, a two-minute search locating his personal ghost stood by his window, frowning at the darkening sky. Relaxing, Jon collected himself a bowl of cereal, flopping on his couch to stare at his friend.

“Havin’ fun?” he muffled through a mouthful, uncaring of the crumbs that sprayed forth, or the disgusted look the Canasian’s face. He gave a round cheeked grin, swallowing to giggle at the rolled eyes, eyebrow rising at the other’s expression. Evan eventually sighed, turning fully to face him.

“Just wondering is all.”

“Boot what?” Jon quizzed back, attempting to imitate the Canadian’s accent. He earned himself a snort then, a small flash of a grin before the serious look returned, eyes turning sad once more.

“ _Boot_ ,” he began, emphasising the word, “why I’m here.” Jon blinked, confused.

 **“** Because my messed-up brain thing made you up,” he shrugged, turning back to his bowl. “Probably miss you or some shit.”

Evan just hummed, sinking down beside him, staying silent as Jon turned on more CSI reruns. They sat in companionable silence as they watched the TV, room getting progressively darker as the time passed, the two soon only lit by the light of the TV. Hours passed like that, neither man speaking, Jon only rising occasionally for snacks or the bathroom. At one point he became bored enough to start throwing his leftover popcorn kernels at Evan, eyes tracking the way they fell through his friend and onto the other side of the room. He ignored the looks he got from the other, only stopping when he ran out, flopping back with a sigh.

Despite sleeping for most of the day, Jonathan still felt exhausted, vision blurring when he let out a yawn. He stretched his stiff muscles, sprawling further across the couch, mind far from the murder investigation currently on the TV. Instead he was focused of the man sat beside him, tracing tanned features for what felt like the millionth time. He wondered if he would ever get bored of just looking at Evan, even if it was an imaginary version. If those familiar Mocha eyes would ever stop making him feel warm, even when they held sadness.

He fell asleep like that, eyelids drooping slowly over the image, body still turned towards the younger. He dreamt of meeting him for real, being able to hug the buff man, feel his warmth beneath his fingers. They laughed together how they used to, gaming side by side, thighs pressed tightly together as they jostled one another to gain the upper hand. The world seemed right here, so comfortable in with his best friend, feeling as if the empty part of his life had been filled every time he heard that honey smooth laugh.

Waking up had never been so hard.

* * *

 

Luke stared him down, brow furrowed, and mouth pulled down behind his beard. Long fingers tapped rhythmically against a firm bicep, arms crossed. Jon sat opposite, picking at his chipped nail polish, black flakes slowly coating the table beneath, determined to keep his mouth shut.

He knew exactly why his brother had almost kicked down his down that morning, man forgoing pleasantries to demand what was wrong with him. But… well Jon didn’t really want to explain his problem to the elder, feeling as speaking it out loud would make it all too real. But those dark eyes hadn’t shifted in an hour, and he could feel his barriers begin to crack, his thoughts too trapped in his own head to stay their much longer.

It only took another ten minutes of intense staring and nervous sweating before he snapped, mouth blurting before he could stop himself.

“I wanna quit YouTube.”

Jon didn’t really expect the silence that followed, from both Toonz or Evan. But he had to assume the younger knew what he was thinking, so that cancelled him out. Luke was more of a surprise although.

The tall man leaned forward, head tilting as he considered the younger of the two, arms finally unfolding to rest on the table.

“Why?”

Jon paused, not expecting the calm question. Biting his lip, he fiddled with his sleeve, an old nervous tick coming forth.

“I… I dunno man,” he mumbled, avoiding the curious gaze. “Just wanna change I guess.”

“Bull fucking shit,” Luke stated back, eyes alight with emotion. “You love YouTube.” Anger flared in him, making his head shoot up.

“Well maybe I don’t anymore, ever think of that? Maybe I’m fed up with makin’ a fool of myself so I can be laughed at!” He growled back, hands clenching into fists. He had to suppress a flinch when the Canadian leant down to whisper in his ear.

“ _Lies.”_

But to his misfortune, his brother seemed to share that opinion, face softening as he scanned the angry man opposite.

“Now, I don’t believe that. You’ve been making people laugh since I met you, even if that did mean sacrificing your own reputation.” Cartoonz’s voice was soft, leaning forward gently as he made his point. “I think had something to do with why you won’t record anymore, and everything to do with losing Vanoss.”

Jon couldn’t hold back that flinch, body jolting as violently as the emotion hit him, chest tightening once more. He couldn’t deny he had been avoiding recording, turning down every invite for the past month, and refusing to record on his own. He couldn’t deny every time he went online he was scanning for easy ways to make money, his nest egg getting dangerously small. And he couldn’t deny that gaming just made him think of Evan, leaving him wanting to do nothing but sleep.

And now, having Luke confront him about it, left him wondering why he was fighting it all so much. There was as much chance of this going away as there was of Evan coming back from the grave, just a fantasy to haunt him day in and day out. Telling Luke wasn’t going to make it worse or better, so he might as well just admit it and move on.

Sighing, he began, eyes remaining on the faded wooden surface beneath him.

“I don’t want to quit YouTube, your right. But I can’t keep doing it right now. I can’t record without feeling sick with dread, I can’t look at my channel without feeling guilty, and I can’t pay my next lot of bills. I need to find a new job for a while, get away from it all.”

A beat of silence.

“Ok.”

Blue eyes shot up, locking with darker ones, confusion evident.

“O-ok?” he stuttered. Toonz just smiled sadly.

“Yes ok,” the elder stated gently, rising to crouch in front of the younger. “Jonny boy, I ain’t gunna force y’all to do summit you ain’t happy with. If you want to take a break, then take a break. We’ll find you a job, get you back on yer feet, and if you ever wanna come back, I’ll be here to help. So stop moping here in the dark, and actually do something that makes y’all happy, ok?”

Jon gaped at his brother, wondering if the elder was lying to him.  But that bearded face held nothing but truth, and he didn’t bother stopping himself launching into the taller’s arms, hugging Luke for the first time in months.

Because he knew, with his brother on his side, he could survive.


	10. New Job

One year and three months since Evan’s disappearance, Delirious found himself stood behind the bar at the seediest nightclub in town, eyes locked on his tip jar. It hadn’t taken him long to work out people took money out of it more often than putting it in, usually to aid their purchase of drugs, leaving Jon to guard the box with sharp eyes.

He couldn’t bring himself to complain although, hours easy for his already fucked up sleep schedule, and old skills coming in use for mixing drinks. Plus, most people left the tips alone after a sharp look from him, tall form and black piercings making him look just scary enough, despite his rather lean nature.

The place was constant full of the smell of smoke and sweat, foggy haze hanging over the ground, air shimmering with the loud bass that shook the floor. Jon never left without his ears ringing, and voice sore from shouting at customers over the music. His eyes were constantly strained from checking bottles under the strobe lighting, having developed a method of recognising the drinks by feel alone.

But the work its self was simple enough, and the pay good enough to pay his bills plus extra, leaving him without worry of money for the first time in years. The last time he had such a consistent income was his old job at his Uncles bar, having started working there as soon as he hit twenty-one, learning to mix various drinks from his cousin. It was that job he quit to pull his full time into his channel, family laughing at his plans, saying they would see him in a month. They were not at all pleased when he started earning decent money, extended family basically disowning him for his success.

Snorting at the memory, he swiftly yanked the tip jar away from a wandering hand, other hand continuing to pour the Jack and Coke, holding the drink hostage until the cash was in his hand, wise to the old drink and run trick. The girl he was serving just gave him a spaced-out grin, eyes blown with some kind of narcotics. Jon watched her wander off, more of her drink spilling down her chin than into her mouth, joining the mess on the already sticky floor. Her too tall heels looked painful, but he was sure she couldn’t feel them by now.

Scratching his chest, band tee crumbling slightly, he shook his head, wondering how exactly Cartoonz had known the owner. It had only taken a couple days after confessing before his brother was dragging him from his couch and into town. The club had been silent at the time, it being the middle of the day, but a guy had been waiting for them, unlocking the door to lead them inside. They had bypassed the main room for a winding corridor upstairs, entering a cramped office, cabinets overflowing with paperwork.

The stranger they had been following perched himself against the desk, gesturing for the two to sit in the folding chairs opposite. The metal surface made Jon grimace, cold seeping through his warm jeans and into his butt, but he did his best to keep a calm front up.

“So, this the guy?” the stranger began, pointing towards Jon. Toonz laughed at his affronted look, nodding his confirmation.

“Yeah, this is him. I know it don’t look it, but he actually knows what he’s doing.” The stranger snorted, eyes rolling at Jon annoyed look, turning back to his brother.

“I dunno dude, he looks like a fucking loner to me. I need someone who can deal with people Luke, not some awkward bastard.” Delirious put his foot down then, fed up with being talked about as if he wasn’t even there.

“Suck my dick,” he snarled, eyes flashing. “Bitches fucking love me.” He was proud of his lack of stutter for a moment afterwards, so used to tripping on his own words, knowing that it would act against him. But then the stranger began laughing in his face, shattering his pride and confidence, leaving his to sit silently fuming, blue glare locked onto the mystery man. He ignored the Canadian man giggling behind him, turning to Toonz.

“Fuck this man, I ain’t gunna s-sit and be laughed at,” he grumbled, rising to leave. Evan was leant by the door, grin bright on his face, eyes teasing as Jon made a face at him. Only Luke’s hand stopped him, wrapping around his bicep to force him back into his seat.

“Chill the fuck out, he’s fuckin’ with y’all,” the elder sighed, dark eyes rolling, before turning back to the stranger. “Pack it in Cash. You gunna give ‘im the job or what?”

‘Cash’ grinned, pulling several bottles out from behind his desk, placing them next to an empty glass, turning back to Jon.

“Can’t offer you a job if you’re shit. Time to prove yourself. Make us a drink.” Jon rose an eyebrow, waiting for the punchline, but the other’s expectant grin never changed. Shrugging he rose, approaching the desk, scanning the variety. Various bottles of Vodka, whiskey, rum, and tequila sat amongst cans of soft drink, each a different level of empty. He considered his options, black haired form to his right giving him an idea.

Glancing back to Cash, now lounging in his office chair, he made a request.

“Got any ice?” The man grinned, pointing a thumb to the fridge on the far wall. A few moments of rummaging lead Jon to the bag of ice in the freezer compartment, carefully measuring out four large cubes. He dumped them in the glass, cracking open a can of coke, adding it bit by bit until the cup was almost full. He paused, scanning the glass bottled once more, before emptying the last of the can into the cup, presenting it to the man.

“One drink,” he announced, grinning cheekily. “Coke on the rocks.”

Cash paused, eyebrow raised, gaze flicking between the glass and Jon. The ex-gamer was just considering his plan had been a fail when the pale face opposite cracked into a grin, laughter spilling forth.

“I fucking like you. You start tomorrow, eight pm sharp. I’ll see you then.”

And with that, Jon found himself working nights, Cash happily forking over fifteen dollars an hour, and whatever tips he could protect from each night. It wasn’t a half bad life.

Things had also changed between him and ghost Vanoss over the past couple months. The man had originally followed him to work each night, perching on the counter, laughing at him each time he made a mistake, or his tips got stolen, but the man had soon become bored, instead spending his nights in Jon’s house, haunting and shit. The elder would often come back to the man either sat on his couch or hanging out in his kitchen, nose wrinkling at the smell of smoke that clung to Jon, demanding the other go and shower.

“You know you can’t actually smell right?” the American would sass each time, already wandering towards his bathroom.

“Yeah but you can,” the Canasian would tease back, disappearing to do whatever ghosts do whilst the living showered. They would sit together as the sun rose, watching crapping TV and eating cereal, before Jon would finally crawl into bed, pale skin hidden from the day light. He’d wake again late in the day, eating his dinner and receiving a distracted goodbye from his house mate, returning to work once more. He got Sundays off, the only day the club was closed, using them to do various chores such as cleaning or shopping, occasionally visiting Luke to check the elder.

His brother kept him updated on the group and their ever changing lives as gamers, telling him about various drama over lunch, insisting that he was missed by the guys as well as his subscribers. The elder tried multiple times to check his channel, or try recording again, but Jon just insisted he was happy as he was at that moment.

Luke would just give him a sad look, head shaking with doubt, but easily dropping the subject. He would listen to his younger friend’s stories of coked out girls and baked dudes attempting to fuck against the bar, or the various guest DJs they had on (no big names, but a few people they recognised from their school days), masking his concern poorly at the apparently less than decent job he had found his brother. Jon just brushed said concern away, feeling perfectly safe tucked behind the bar, able to use the upstairs staff toilet to avoid the drug dealers that frequented the main ones.

But that didn’t stop the younger missing his friend every time he left, eyes drifting over his closed office door on his way to bed, still unable to bring himself to enter the room.

Monday evening always lead him back to the club, wondering if he would ever gain the courage to return to YouTube.


	11. Ghostly opinions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: emotional breakdown

He was wiping down the bar after a long Saturday night, waiting for his eyes to readjust to the light, when Cash appeared before him, grin wide. Jon just glanced at his boss, continuing to scrub at a large sticky patch of what he hoped was alcohol, waiting for the elder man to speak.

“Sup Jonny boy,” the boss drawled, grin widening at Jonathan’s displeased look. The man refused to call hi by anything but nicknames, despite the younger’s obvious irritance. “Me and Chains are gunna go have a drink upstairs, share a blunt and stuff. Wanna join?”

Certain he didn’t want to get high with his boss and the wannabe DJ, Jon declined, excusing himself from the club to head home. Cash just shrugged, grin still present.

“Your loss Jay,” the man called after him, laughing as Jon flipped him off over his shoulder. The blue-eyed man climbed into his car, engine rumbling loudly in the quiet street, disturbing the 4am peace. He drove home humming along to his CD, wondering if he had any cereal left, stomach grumbling in expectation.

The light of his kitchen revealed Evan slumped at the sink, lost in thought as the younger stared out the window. The Canadian merely grunted in return of his greeting, not turning as Jon clattered about to find his breakfast, coffee maker beeping as it poured his mugful. He perched himself on the stool, shovelling his food into his mouth, slurping down the too hot bitter liquid. Curiosity burned within, head tilting as he considered his companion, wondering not for the first time if he was a real ghost, rather than a creation of Jon’s imagination.

But then chocolate eyes turned to lock on him.

“You aren’t happy.” Delirious nearly choked. Half chewed cereal splattered the counter as he coughed, unlodging the cheerio that had jammed in his throat. Evan gave him a look, nose wrinkling at the mess, but remaining silent until Jon had caught his breath once more, croaking out,

“What?”

The Canadian just rolled his eyes.

“You forget I know what you’re thinking?” the younger sassed, hip popping out. “I know you, and I know that behind this front you’re still fucked up in the head. So, stop being a little bitch and admit it.”

Snorting at the no nonsense tone, Jon just rose, wandering towards his couch, flicking on the TV. He ignored the man blocking the view, finishing his food as he scrolled through Twitter, legs propped on the coffee table. The tanned man in front of his eventually gave in, flopping onto the couch with a growl, flipping off the elder when he laughed at him.

“You’re an asshole,” Evan grumbled, settling in to watch Breaking Bad. The summer sun rose outside, bathing them in a soft golden light, morning mist making the early hour seem mystical. The pair of men watched Walter White cook meth, Jon reminded of the dirty dealing that happened more often than not right in front of him, drugs more white that bright blue. He told his companion about a girl trying to pay for her drink with crack rather than money, only receiving an angry grunt in return, making azure eyes roll.

He didn’t see why Evan should be pissed off with him, it’s not like the other ever admitted what was going through his head. He had once spent three hours trying to convince the younger he genuinely cared about why his friend was acting weird, only to have the other brush him off, claiming everything was fine before hanging up. It was infuriating, after a while, only finding out the good parts of Evan’s life. It made him feel like a privileged fan, rather than an actual friend.

Own mood dropping rapidly, Jon dumped his bowl with a loud clang, shutting of the TV as he stood.

“I’m gunna shower,” he grumbled, trying his best not to stomp like a child. Evan just twitched a brow, eyes still unimpressed, Jon only holding back from whacking that dark head by the fact it would be completely pointless. Slamming the bathroom door brought little satisfaction, turning the temperature up, steam rapidly filling the room as he threw off his shirt and jeans.

He almost fell into his sink trying to pull his socks off, multiple swears echoing off the tiles as he scrabbled to regain balance. Lobbing the offending clothing across the room, he threw himself under the spray, hissing sharply as the water hit his skin, tense muscles slowly relaxing under the heat. He sighed as his shoulder’s slumped, head tilting back to let the crap wash from his hair, dirt swirling down the drain with his anger.

Two seconds later, he realised his predicament, body tensing once more as his gaze shot downwards.

“Seriously?” he yelled. His hard on didn’t fault as he glared down at it accusingly, as if it was the cause of his problems. It stubbornly remained even as he thought of dead puppies and homeless dick, forcing him to turn the temperature down, icy blast making him grumble again, goose bumps rising. Thankfully it fixed his problem, arousal sinking away as he scrubbed soap through his hair, fingers tugging at the knots in the locks.

He rushed to finish, hating the cold sinking into his bones, almost slipping on the wet floor in his hurry to fetch his towel. After a quick dry of his hair, he slung the fabric around his slim hips, exiting the bathroom for his bedroom, quick to dig out a pair of warm PJs. The earth had yet to warm up, leaving his floor cool beneath his toes, eager to tuck them beneath warm covers. He was meant to be a Luke’s in a few hours, deciding to get some sleep, conversation with Evan weighing on him.

 ** _Fucking bitch_** he grumbled mentally snuggling into his covers, sleep quick to drag him under. His dreams were filled with hypocritical brown eyes, smug smiles, and honey smooth laughter.

Luke ended up breaking in after Jon’s alarm failed to wake him, younger grumbling sleepily as the elder ripped away the sheets, bright blue only appearing to glare up. Luke just rolled his eyes, leaving to allow the younger to get up and dress, bacon already sizzling in the pan by the time he reached the kitchen. Stomach growling, Jon slumped at the bar, almost spilling the offered cup of coffee in effort to drink it, ignoring the twin snorts that came his way.

Evan perched unseen on the next seat, looking brighter than he had earlier, having dropped the conversation much to Jon’s gratitude. The Canadian gazed longingly at the plate in front of the other, eyes narrowing when Jon gave an exaggerated moan at the first bite, ignoring the weird look Toonz shot his way. They stayed silent until their plates were cleared, migrating to the sofa for pointless chatter and Iron Man.

Brown eyes watched the TV with joy, Jon smiling, knowing how much his friend loved the movie. He relaxed into the day, fingers fiddling with his phone as he chattered away, vague sense of missing a controller pulsing through his palms, but not enough to take up Luke’s offer of a game. He went shopping after the bearded man left, only Evan for company, younger sassing his various food choices, laughing when he fell over nothing in the parking lot. He blamed the younger for his spilt milk, laughing along with the other, ignoring the strange looks he got from the few other night owls shopping.

Sticking to his new hours, he stayed up throughout the night, munching on snacks as he browsed the internet, hunting twitter for temporary amusement. It took several hours for him to realise he had migrated onto YouTube, giggling at his friend’s old videos, ignoring the sense of loss at the honey smooth Canadian accent that teased the other’s.

His heart hurt at the familiar laugh, able to pick out the madness his imaginary version had lost over the months. He relaxed into his friend’s unique humour, trying to ignore the burning of tears in his eyes as he listened to a dead man. Evan now, he still could quite see the other as completely gone, his ghost managing to shrink the hole from a crater to a dip, but still not quite enough. The lack of gaming helped, having such a strong association with the Canadian, the man having been most of Jon’s inspiration when he started growing his channel, all those years ago. He almost pitied his younger self, so bright eyed and hopeful, loving his new friends, never even considering how much they could change his life, change him.

He never thought he would get so attached to some people that happened to share his sense of humour, feel so loyal to people who watched his videos, fall in love with a man two thousand miles away. Because, sadly, that was the fact. He loved Evan, hell still did, to the point where he had to create an imaginary version just to cope with the loss.

It was like losing family all over again, not having his best friend. He didn’t care if he couldn’t talk to the younger, didn’t care if they drifted apart, because Evan had always been there, answering at three am when insomnia hit the elder, making him laugh when he couldn’t bring himself, not caring when Jon was too cowardly to show his face.

And even with the younger’s lack of openness, even with the lack of contact, Jon felt as close to the Canadian as he did his own brother. And now he was gone, just a fading memory remaining, even that being distorted with time, leaving Jon with more regret than he wanted. If only he had show Evan his face, if only he had tried harder to stay in touch, if only he had told him how much Jonathan _cared._ What did it matter if the other had laughed at him, teased him for being sappy, at least he would have known.

Emotions threatening to boil over, Jon paused the video, dumping his headset to swing away, burrowing his face in his hands. It was a surprise, having the feelings still be so strong after all this time, the reality of his pain still able to knock the wind out of him. Gritting his teeth, he focused of regulating his breathing, fighting the tightness in his chest.

It was only when a voice spoke up from across the room did he raise his head, blue locking onto chocolate brown.

“I told you, you weren’t ok,” the Canadian stated. It wasn’t given with malice of triumph, the factual tone just making his shoulder’s slump further. Sighing, he dragged a hand through his hair, wincing when his fingers caught on a knot.

“I know,” he admitted, grimacing at the sad look that was shot his way. “It’s not like I can fix it though.”

“Why not?” Jon snorted at the question, raising an eyebrow as if to ask ‘ _seriously?’_ Evan’s expression didn’t change, Asian man waiting patiently for an answer.

“You know why,” the elder grouched, gesturing vaguely at his head. “You’re up here, remember?”

Evan just sighed, sliding from the bed to walk towards the other, crouching in front of the elder man.

“I know,” he murmured, voice and eyes going soft as a tanned hand hovered over his own paler one. Jon watched the appendage, wondering if the apparition would try for the impossible contact, wishing he could feel the warmth that should be there, but the hand remained airborne. “But sometimes saying it out loud can help.”

Jon stood rapidly, trusting the younger to move quick enough to let him pass, pacing the length of his room in effort of contain the building emotion. It was ridiculous, his own mind giving him emotional tips, but he couldn’t stop his mouth running.

“Yes, you were right,” he began, frustration bleeding into every word. “Yes, I’m not really happy, yes, I’m not ok, yes, it’s all wrong. I know that, just like I know you’re not actually here, and it’s all me playing pretend so I can cope. And I know it’s all because no matter now much I scream, shout, cry, no matter how much I regret everything I didn’t do, no matter how much I try and fool myself, nothing is going to bring you back.” He was panting now, tears falling with no control.

I know you’re dead Evan,” he finally whispered, voice cracking. “You’re dead and I can’t fix that. But that won’t ever stop me from wanting you to come back.” He paused, fixing his watery eyes on the brown ones that weren’t really there. “Please come back,” he begged, hands shaking as he fought for control that was long gone. “Please come back before I lose myself.”

And with that, he collapsed in on himself, sobs tearing though his body as he listened to a cacophony of “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” wanting nothing more than the world to stop while he broke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the wait, Uni is very much on top of me at the moment. hope y'all enjoy, and thank you again for all the kind words.


	12. Sparkles

His coke-soaked shirt stuck to his back as he attempted to rip it off over his head, mood dipping further when he noticed his jeans were wet as well. The replacement shirt Cash offered him smelt like smoke and weed, but he grudgingly accepted it was better than his wet one, despite wrinkling his nose at the smell. Cash just slapped the upside of his skull at the face, smirk never changing.

“Shouldn’t complain Jono, I could make you go back out there without,” the elder grinned, laughing at the middle finger he was presented with. “Don’t take too long, I really don’t trust Bill with the tip jar… or the register… or the alcohol, I’m gunna go down and check on him. See ya in a few.”

Jonathan snorted, not at all surprised Cash’s so called ‘friends’ weren’t to be trusted. He had only had the displeasure of meeting a couple of them on one other occasion, and they hadn’t exactly struck him as trust worthy, considering one had immediately tried to sell him crack and hadn’t been too pleased with Jon’s attempts to turn him down.

He didn’t even bother to point out the cash poking out from Bill’s back pocket when he got back to the bar, easily falling back into the routine he had had to temporarily leave after a girl threw her drink on him. The final couple hours passed at a snail’s pace, an audible sigh of relief leaving his lips when the final drunken dude stumbled out the door. Cash just huffed a laugh from his place with the most recent DJ, hopping the bar to pull a bottle of the good vodka off the shelf.

The sour smell of ethanol hit his nose as the liquid sloshed over his hand, glass bumping rather roughly against his knuckles, wrapped around the rag he used for cleaning. Sighing once more, blue eyes rose to meet Cash’s grin, rolling at the expectant gesture.

“I’m driving dipshit,” he grumbled at his boss, ignoring the glass as he continued wiping down the bar, flipping off the other when he got a snort in return.

“Get a cab,” the elder stated, looking amused. “I definitely pay you enough.”

“Not enough to deal with your bullshit,” Jon snarked back, grinning when the DJ snorted out a laugh, Cash looking less than impressed.

“Careful Nate, or you’ll get fuck all,” his boss warned, grin reappearing when the younger finally gave in to slump next to the two men, glass in hand and rag forgotten.

“That’s not even close to my name,” Jon complain, revelling in the familiar burn his drink gave. Resting his forehead against the cool glass, he sighed once more, shaking away the heaviness that seemed to haunt him nowadays. It had been dragging since his breakdown two months ago, the sense of loss and loneliness like a weight on his chest. He knew Luke noticed him drawing away, all the more eager to hide away in his bed and mope than usual. Even Evan’s ghost couldn’t keep him from his thoughts, brown eyes filled with the same loss every time he saw them.

Hell, he was so lost in thought it took a couple minutes to realise the DJ had asked him a question.

“Sorry, what?” he quizzed, ignoring the heat that built in his face when Cash laughed again. Their companion just shrugged, taking another swig before repeating himself.

“No problem dude. Just asked what you’re name actually is, since Cash here has a problem using real names.” Jon snorted his own laugh at that, ignoring the eldest various protests.

“Jonathan. You?”

“Sam, or DJ Sparkles if you prefer.” Jon nearly spit out his drink.

“Y-you mean,” he spluttered, gasping for air that didn’t seem to want to be in his lungs. “You mean l-like…”

Sam, to his credit, seemed to understand, dark head flipping back in a deep laugh.

“Yeah dude, like in the Vanoss vid. I’m not that idiot if that what your thinking, he just made good inspiration.” Jon felt calm sweep over him, body slumping as he let out his own breathless chuckles. “Wouldn’t have pegged you for a fan though.”

“Yeah, not many people would,” he chuffed back, only to be interrupted by a confused voice.

“What the fuck are you dicks on about?” _Nice Cash, nice._ The two-conversing turned to the club owner, eyes rolling in tandem.

“You wouldn’t know,” Jon sassed just as Sam threw in his two cents.

“YouTube thing bud,” the musician informed, swiping the vodka from the other to fill his drink. Cash grumbled, snatching back the bottle to top up himself, Jon’s glass still mostly full.

“Should’ve known it was some nerdy shit of yours.” Jon just watched, eyebrows raised as he took a drink. “I assuming it’s a guy. He any good?” This time, Jon didn’t choke.

The sound of a slamming glass cut Sam of, cup now empty of its contents.

“He’s dead.” The words sounded foreign, coming from Jonathan’s mouth, but before either man could read into the emotion hidden behind his blunt tone, he was grasping for the bottle, now eager to numb the conversation from his brain.

“What, like dead dead?” Cash quizzed, frowning when Jon took a drink instead of answering. Sam just sighed.

“Yes, dead dead, you idiot. Dude was practically famous last year, he was all over the news,” the dark-skinned man stated, eyes rolling. “Do you really live under that much of a rock?”

“Pretty much. If it’s not to do with music or money, I don’t really give a shit.”

Jon wondered if he was subconsciously after trouble, opening his mouth again before he thought.

“He made m-music too. Good music.” His shoulders hunched further at the disbelieving look shot his way, need to defend and hide building. Luckily Sam came to the rescue before he could put his foot in it.

“It’s true, he did. Ever heard of Rynx?” At the negative the DJ was pulling out his phone, opening Spotify with practiced ease. It wasn’t long before the familiar beat of ‘Want You’ was crackling from the tiny speakers, tugging at Jon’s throat in a way he hated. He took another long swing, attempting to hide the hurt he could feel on his face, allowing the vodka to burn away the pain in his chest.

 It was only as Cash’s approving look did he grin, bittersweet memories of Evan stressing over releasing his very first original coming to mind. Jon had spent hours on the phone that night, doing his best impression of a cheerleader to get the Canadian to stop dithering and press post, cheering wildly when the younger managed, laughing at the bashful insults he got in return. Jon had even bought the song off iTunes in effort to support his friend, blasting the song throughout the call when Evan joined to game that afternoon, getting several irritated groans in return. But he was happy to deal with Brian’s bitching if it meant getting a ‘ **Thx bitch’** afterward the session had finished.

The song ended with the memory, leaving a strange taste in the back of his throat that not even Vodka could wash away. Shaking his head, he dumped his glass, Uber app ready on his phone.

“I’m gunna go,” he mumbled, feeling the buzz of alcohol in his veins and the slight spin in the room. Cash booed loudly, Sam giving him a friendly grin he struggled to return.

“Nice to meet ya dude,” the man quipped, flicking Cash in the ear as the man leaned over him, protesting about Jon being boring.

“You too dude,” the paler returned, ignoring his boss in favour for escaping into the fresh morning air. It took no time at all to get back to him, the driver staying thankfully silent ( _five stars for you bud_ ), sun blinding as he tried to fall through his front door. Evan looked up from his spot on the couch, face going from startled to amused at Jon’s obvious state.

“Finally decided to be a social butterfly, hmm?” The American just flipped him off, swearing quietly at his coffee machine that just didn’t want to co-operate. The stupid thing finally started grinding after the sixth attempt, Jon’s cheer earning him a teasing laugh that he ignored.

“More like Cash held me hostage,” he grumbled back eventually, perching next to his companion with a hot mug. “Fucker doesn’t know what no means.” Evan just rose one perfect black brow. “Fine, I stuck around, are you happy now Mr. Know-it-all?”

“Very,” the younger teased back. “Decent DJ tonight, or that dude who we think is the dealer?” Evan had heard a lot from Jon about Chainz’s various appearances, which always ended in a blunt for him and Cash, Jon eager to turn down spending time with the pair.

“Nahh,” he waved vaguely. “haven’t seen him in like a week. New dude tonight, old friend of Cash’s I think.” Evan hummed, gaze sliding back to the TV, clearly only looking for gossip. Jon just grinned. “Fan of yours though.” Cocoa brown snapped back so fast, Jon’s neck hurt in sympathy, which he ignored for laughing instead.

“Really?”

“Yup,” he piped back, voice light and teasing. “Even showed the big b-boss some of your music. Cash approves which is amazin’ since his taste in music is shit.” Evan snorted at that, finally relaxing back, shooting a lazy grin Jon’s way.

“No one can deny the power of good tunes,” the younger drawled, attention drawn back to the now on TV, happy to drop the conversation. But Jon stayed grinning at his friend, best news still to come.

“Nope, and definitely not our new t-talent, DJ Sparkles.”

The worries finally took a backseat, laughter shaking his frame as Evan nearly fell off the couch. This almost made it all worth it.


	13. Travel

“Bullshit,” he claimed, slamming back his drink in order to top their glasses. Sam just shook his head opposite, determination never leaving his eyes for a second.

“Seriously dude, it’s worth it,” the DJ replied, Cash still laughing on his other side. It had become a habit for the three of them to have a drink after work this past month, Sam now a regular headline on the stage, and Cash happy to regal in their old tales of friendship. Jon couldn’t help but like the guy, who was much more easy-going and fun that Cash’s other so-called friends, and he couldn’t help but compare him to his old online friend group.

Sam had a humour on par with Scotty, but a temper that could rival Marcel. He was as street smart of Tyler, and as world knowledgeable as Mini, whilst matching Brian in sass and Ohm in dirty mindedness. It was no wonder Jon found him so easy to get on with, happily chatting over a couple drinks every night ( _morning?_ ), Cash grinning over their shoulders. Jon had even taken to getting the bus in and an Uber home, so he could stop abandoning his car every other night.

Which is why they found themselves on a Saturday morning, slumped over the bar, day light beginning to creep in the high windows, arguing the benefits of travelling.

“It’s expensive, and too see what? Some fuckin’ p-p-pyramids or some shit?” Jon bitched, fingers fidgeting with his phone. Cash nodded from his perch opposite, sly grin showcasing his dirty path.

“You can mail order hot brides Sammy, why bother going abroad to bang ‘em?” Both Sam and Jon groaned then, eyes rolling at the typical response.

“You guys seriously need to get out of this state,” the middle man complained, fore arms flexing as he hung off the bar. “There’s more to life that fucking and sightseeing, ya know?”

“Life is about fucking Samburger, and the quicker you realise that, the happier you’ll be. We’re all animals at heart, after the same goal. Getting that dick in some sweet puss.”

Sam looked like he wanted to throw up.

“You are seriously vulgar, Cash. Like Jesus…” Jon couldn’t help but agree, shaking his head at his boss before turning back to the DJ.

“I ain’t going fucking travelling dude,” he huffed, hip knocking against the bar in his attempt to be sassy. Wincing sharply, he almost missed the knowing look in the other’s eyes, no answer coming at his confused look, conversation being dropped with the same ease it had been started.

**_Thank fuck._ **

* * *

 

He cursed Sam once more as he left his brother to go through security, the man leaving him with a wave and the keys to his house. Luke had promised to finish emptying his possessions into storage with the upmost care, the money from the sale being his main source of cash for the next-how-ever-long he was gone. It had been three months since that fateful conversation where the DJ had planted the idea in his mind, and now, for some fucking reason, he was attempting to navigate airport security to get on a plane to Brazil of all places.

Huffing at his own craziness, he watched Evan stroll unseen through the detector, making an array of faces at the TSA agent patting down a woman, Jon struggling to stifle his laugh at the display. Luckily the man didn’t seem interested in the idiot laughing at himself, handing back his laptop and backpack with little more than a grunt.

He flipped off his companion’s giggles after he struggled to reaffix his stuff to himself, sunglasses clattering across the floor several times from their perch in his hair, short strands doing little to keep them in place. Holding back the urge to slap the other, he stalked off, stomach growling viciously as the smell of McDonalds hit, nose guiding him to the correct area. It only took him a few minutes to find a seat, burger in hand, back dumped at his feet as he attempted to connect to the wifi on his phone.

“You use airport wifi?” Evan asked in disbelief, eyes wide. “You know they sell your info right?” Jon just snorted, flicking onto Twitter to check his messages. He had long ago made a private account, so he could browse without putting up the front that was H2O Delirious. He vaguely wondered how much he had missed on his other account, having not used it since leaving Youtube.

“I’m here for three hours, I’d sell my soul for a decent internet connection,” he stated back, face falling as his thumb hovered over the switch account button. The guilt of abandoning his friends and fans still hadn’t faded entirely, and leaving the country just felt like another method of running away. Maybe if he just explained….

Tanned fingers appeared over his screen, waggling slightly to draw his attention up to cocoa colour irises, filled with what looked like pity.

“It’s not running away you know. It’s just doing what’s best for you right now.” Jon snorted at the words, shaking his head as he switched apps.

“We both know that’s bullshit,” he mumbled, shoulders slumping as he checked his email. “And I don’t need your fuckin’ pity.” Evan huffed next to him, hand reappearing to block his view once more.

“It’s not pity. I actually understand, since, you know, you’re not the only one who left people behind.” Blue shot to meet brown, flashing angrily.

“Fuck off,” he bit out, fists clenching with the rush of emotion. “You’ve no fuckin’ idea what this is like. You’re dead. Nothing can touch you anymore, you don’t have to deal with the shit you left behind for the rest of us. You can leave this all behind anytime, and stop haunting my ass, but noooo, yer gunna sit there and try and tell me you understand. Fuck you and your stupid bullshit Vanoss.”

Chest heaving, he slumped back into his seat, forcing himself to ignore the surround looks he was getting for telling off an empty seat, doing his best not to feel insulted as a woman ushered her child away. He knew he looked insane, hell he probably was, but that didn’t make the whispers any less hurtful. After spending a lifetime avoiding the public view, to suddenly be standing in it was uncomfortable to say at the least, particularly when he was slurring his words in a fit of rage.

Sighing, he met his friend’s eyes once more, wave of depression stopping any remaining anger at the calculating look in the Canadian’s expression.

“If that’s the case, why am I still here?” The younger queried, head tilting softly. Jon couldn’t deny the quizzical look was adorable on that tanned face, softening his sharp feature to make him look even younger. The urge to coo was compressed rapidly, not wanting to seem even more insane, Jon purposely turning away to resist the temptation.

“Because I like torturing myself apparently,” he muttered back, hand running through messy brown, shoulders rolling in an effort to relax. “Now shut up, before someone s-sections me.”

Evan snorted.

“If that was going to happen, it would’ve by now,” his companion cheeked, earing a swift middle finger and a mumble “bitch”. A too handsome smirk was his only response, the next couple hours passing in companionable silence until the gate was announced. Evan amused himself by running along next to the travellator, dodging people with a grace only years of hockey could bring, whilst Jon managed to stumble over his own shoes whilst standing still.

Righting himself, he looked back towards the tanned man swerving around an elderly couple, smile tugging at his lips at the bright look in those brown eyes. It was a look he imagined Evan carried on the ice, in his element with a hockey stick in hand and a competitive spark in his gaze. He could only feel disappointment at having never seen the other play, just another reminder of the life his fear had caused him to miss out on.

Hence why he was currently showing his ticket and passport rather awkwardly at the woman manning the gate, shifting under her scanning stare, only relaxing when she finally returned the items and pointed him towards the passage. He almost fell into the plane, Vanoss now silent as he followed, presence never wavering as Jon found his seat and stowed his bag under it. The seats filled quickly, mostly with people wearing suits and carrying laptops, the odd family dotted here and there.

Blue irises stuck to the window when the seat next to him was filled, his ghost having wandered to the back of the cabin, out of site but not mind. All too soon, the doors were shutting, and plane taxiing, flight attendants giving a minimal safety demonstration to bored eyes. Jon barely took a moment to register where the nearest exit was before the plane was hurdling down the runway at breakneck speed, launching them into the air, sailing above the clouds with ease.

Evan failed to return when the flight levelled off, so Jon muttered about the bathroom to his seating companion, rising to find his friend. He found the Canadian in the last row, slumped unevenly in a too small seat, gazing serenely out of the window. Rolling his eyes, Jon shifted towards the toilet, only for the black topped head to whip round, catching his gaze with a spark of mischief.

“Thinking of joining the mile-high club Delirious?” the younger drawled, shoulders shaking with suppressed chuckles. Jon just turned away, reaching for the door.

“You wish you could t-tap this, bitch,” he muttered back, knowing the Canasian heard him from the peels of laughter floating through the door.

The rest of the flight was smooth, Jonathan finally able to relax now he knew his friend hadn’t vanished, drifting off to sleep not long after plugging in his headphones. It felt like only minutes had passed when the flight attendant shook him awake for landing, the g-forces shaking away the last of his grogginess, the plane touching down with thud.

When his feet finally hit the tarmac, the warm tropical air like a slap to the face, Jon felt lost. Here he was, four thousand miles from home, with little more than some clothes and his laptop. Everything he knew was out of reach, phone unable to connect to any network, and wi-fi all in a language he hadn’t used since junior year. And for a spilt second, he considered just turning around and demanding they fly him back, damned be the consequences.

But then a tall figure appeared next to him, tanned skin already soaking up the sun, cap pulled low to shade his eyes. Perfect white teeth almost sparkled in the light, lips pulled back in a grin, as the younger scanned their surroundings. Taking a step towards the terminal, Evan looked back expectantly.

“Coming?”

Refusing to overthink, Jon followed.

* * *

 

And that became his life. Following Evan into strange new places, exploring cities and back water villages, making friends with people who could deal with his broken Spanish. He would sleep wherever was cheap and had indoor plumbing, eat whatever the locals offered, and give a helping hand where he could.

They crossed borders with little thought, once a week finding a cheap internet café to Skype or message Luke, keeping the elder updated with their progress.

And, finally, six months in, after playing a game of street soccer with a group of local kids (and having his ass kicked in the process), did he realise what Sam meant.

Travelling was so much more than he thought.


	14. Brown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! PLEASE READ THE TAGS!!!!!!!!!!!!

He realised in Ushuaia, Argentina. He was waiting on a boat to Penguin Island, exploring the market for some breakfast in the chilly morning air, the stench of fish strong in the air. A stall surrounded by children caught his eye, homely smell of stew filling his chest full of warmth.

The old woman handing out the bowls gave Jon a kind smile as she took his money, handing back his change with a cardboard bowl of steaming lamb casserole, and a plastic spoon, shooing away a few of the kids who stared up at him curiously. He knew he looked scruffy, with too long hair and week-old stubble, cheeks ruddy in the cold breeze, but at his awkward grin, the children giggled, taller girl waving before pulling away the younger to play.

Jon watched them go with a smile, finding a perch nearby where he could eat and watch the girls play some odd variation of jacks, involving much more running and dancing than he remembered.  He shovelled the stew down hot, partially due to hunger, but mostly due to the awareness of the bowl’s sogginess. It was delicious to be fair, the lamb tender and liquid thick. It reminded him of sick days when he was young, his mother slaving away to make him her special cure-all stew. It would never fail to make him feel better, and Luke had nearly cried the time Jon cooked it for the elder man.

It was like eating liquid love, chasing away the darkness that seemed to cling to his soul. It made him think of home, and all the people he had left behind, head turning automatically to find the only piece he still carried with him. But the seat next to him was empty. Frowning, he glanced around the market, but Evan was nowhere to be seen, Asian man not even hiding behind him in order to give Jon a heart attack.

“Huh…” he murmured, pausing in his thoughts just long enough to drain the last of his stew, before casting his mind back. As he thought, he realised he hadn’t seen the man since the previous night, memories of the hostel blurred with exhaustion. It was strange to think he had spent the morning without his constant personal ghost, alone in his own head for the first time since leaving the US.

A small voice knocked him from his head.

“¿Estas bien?”

Blinking rapidly, blue shot down, spotting the younger girl from earlier, now stood by his knee. Bright honey browns looked concerned, small tanned hand hovering uncertainly above his own paler version, fisted on his thigh. Feeling a bit shocked, he nodded, managing a weak grin to which the smaller brightened, grabbing his wrist to tug him upright.

Scrambling up, he threw his trash in the bin nearby, almost missing as the girl pulled him towards her friend, now with several other small children. They watched curiously as he was brought closer, small girl babbling rapidly in Spanish to the others, other hand waving madly in the air. The group seemed to fall on board, chattering away excitedly as they gathered various equipment, a taller boy handing Jon a ball before pointing towards another child holding a bat, making various throwing motions to show him what he needed to do. Grinning fully now, he nodded, allowing the rest to finish finding their places before starting.

An hour later, his boat arrived with a bellow of its horn, Jon just managing to pull himself away from their game of baseball to board. The kids ran along the pier as they set off, waving madly as they stumbled over each other, jumping when they caught Jon’s insane laugh floating back towards them across the water. He felt lighter than he had in a long time, smile remaining long after he arrived at the island and began to explore.

It was here he found Evan, perched on a small cliff, watching the birds with an easy interest. Coffee brown sparkled in the faint sunshine, soft laugh tugging at Jon’s heart when he nearly fell over a rock. The Canadian wasted no time falling into step beside him, joining in on the tour unseen, loudly pointing out the obvious American tourists, Jon stifling his laugh to try and seem sane. The pair stalked penguins until they had to leave, using the boat ride back to discuss the earlier game. Evan recalled it perfectly (of course he would, he’s in Jon’s head), and made no mention of his absence, so the elder gamer brushed it off as a onetime thing.

But then it kept happening. In the couple weeks he took to travel back to Buenos Aires, Evan disappeared at least every other day, there as Jon fell asleep, but gone when the sun rose. The Canadian never said anything, or acted different, and it would sometimes take the American several hours to notice the empty space beside himself, but it still left Jon feeling as if he had lost something important.

Finally, boarding his flight back to Brazil to catch a connector to Qatar then Thailand, he said something. Vanoss had been gone that day, the clown faced gamer finding him in the empty seat next to his, watching the people working on the tarmac. Settling quickly, Jon wasted no time asking,

“Wha-where do you keep going?” he stuttered out, wide blue searching chocolate brown for answers. A perfect black brow rose, tanned arms crossing as Evan leant back to consider him.

“Delirious…” the younger drawled, laughter hiding behind the sarcasm. “How am I meant to know if you don’t, since, ya know, I’m inside your head?”

Jonathan paused. He hadn’t actual considered that…. Evan’s low chuckled brought him back, taking a moment to flip off the apparition before buckling himself in for take-off. It was only once they were in the air did his companion speak again, soundly oddly soft and hesitant.

“Maybe you don’t really need me anymore?” Jon turned, but was greeted with dark hair only, Evan staring rather determinately out of the window. Never more had he wanted to reach out, turn those dark eyes towards himself, hug the tanned body against his own. He wanted to reassure the younger how he would always need him by his side, how he felt like he had lost a limb without his friend, how he wouldn’t survive having to say goodbye again.

But he couldn’t. His fingers would slide straight through firm muscles, sharp jawline more vapour than solid. The man across the aisle was already staring at him strangely, occasionally glancing at the empty window seat as if his companion would appear. Sighing, he flopped back, gripping his armrests as the plane shook its self into the air, small craft not as stable as the ones he was used to. It was better than worrying about a ghost…

“In your head, remember?” was whispered into his ear. Blue slid sideways, catching his friends meaningful look and sending back a return grin, before settling in properly. It was going to be a long journey.

* * *

 

Thailand was rather interesting he decided. After a week spent in Bangkok (the first day spent sleeping off his twenty-eight-hour flight), exploring the city and its history, he made his way North, aiming for the border with Burma and Laos.

The difference from South America was startling. Instead of scraping by with broken Spanish, he was left with pointing at words in an English to Thai book. Instead of various meat stews, he ate rice dishes and tried insects. He easily found internet in the big cities, skyping Luke three times in the capital alone, the older man showing bright interest in his tales and keeping him updates with their friends’ antics. Jonathan almost stopped breathing when he heard Tyler had put his fist through his desk, and Ohm had officially creeped everyone out with his innuendos, Jiggly having banned him from Uno for at least a week.

He almost stayed to watch their videos but had dragged himself away to catch his bus. He repeated the tales to Evan when he reappeared, using as a distraction from the absence, basking in his friend’s smooth chuckles. In the month it took to arrive in Lampang, their luck never seemed to run out, weather remaining dry and sunny as Jon successfully navigated through the country. The locals were friendly, the food was good, and his mood was upbeat.

But then it all went wrong.

* * *

 

Lampang wasn’t the biggest city but it’s streets seemed to wind in circles, dead ends around every corner. The rain poured endlessly, making the signs blur as water dripped into bright blue, lean body hunched in an attempt to keep his map dry.

Jon was hopelessly lost. A kind man on his last bus had marked a decent hostel on his map, and he had now been looking for it for three hours, coat long since soaked through, his city guide disintegrating with the water. Evan stood loyally at his side in the dying light, dry despite the rain, smirking at Jon’s wet dog appearance.

“Fuck off,” the elder mumbled, flipping his wet bangs away, trying another alley, praying it was a shortcut. The small street was full of rubbish, winding sharply between tall buildings, smelling like piss and mould. It funnelled the cold breeze straight onto Jon’s face, making him shiver violently. The rain slanted, soaking his map. Grumbling, he ducked under an awning, frantically trying to wipe it dry with pale fingers. He listened to the noise of running water and the squeaking of the wooden panelling below as he shuffled, squinting at the tiny street names.

But the ink was smeared irreparable, tiny rips combining until the paper was almost shredded. His legs were cold and sore, his brain fried from trying to find this place.

“Maybe sit down for a minute dude. You look dead on your feet,” Evan commented, eyebrow raised. Jon gave him a _no shit_ look, flopping down with little preamble, only for the last of his colour to vanish as the hatch below let out a crack.

“Son of a…” he snarled, body falling before he could finish. His back hit the concrete floor with a bang, dust flying up around him in a flurry, wind knocked from his lungs. His head connected neatly with what felt like a brick, sending the room spinning as he gasped for air. “ _Bitch,”_ he wheezed, blinking rapidly at the patch of grey sky left above.

Jon lay there for what felt like hours before he caught his breath, finally rolling over with a groan, coughing away the dust that filled his throat. A glance confirmed he had landed in some sort of basement, the expansive room filled floor to ceiling with various crates and cages big enough to fit him. The hatch he had fallen through was a good five feet out of his reach, removing the option of leaving back through it, and Evan seemed to have disappeared. Jon wondered if the blow to the head anything had to do with that, praying it was water and not blood dripping down his neck.

Sighing, he scrambled back to his feet, trying not to vomit as the world spun once more, the neighbouring box like an anchor under his steadying hand. Wishing, not for the first time, that he had used a GPS, the American began stumbling through the empty room in hopes of finding some stairs, a ladder, or _something._

Thanking his past self for charging his phone, he used the torch to avoid tripping over the various rope and chains across the floor, starting to wonder who the fuck lived here. The air smelt foul, like human excrement and death, and the air was static in a way that made him shudder. The only sound was his uneven breathes and squelching shoes, the light of his phone shining a rough path through the rubbish.

He was almost at a door when something caught his eye. The flash of movement and the jangle of a chain drew his attention, blue darting uncertainly between his escape and the hidden corner from where it came. A beat passed, then he sighed, giving into his curiosity and creeping towards the noise.

His chest tightened as he approached, light wobbling in his shaky grip, wondering if he was about to be murdered. Fucking typical, the man who used the Jason mask gets murdered in a Thai basement… but as he turned past the last box, his fears changed. **_What the fuck?_**

He must have uttered the words out loud, as the man before him growled lowly, shuffling back, arm lifted to block the harsh light of Jon’s phone. He should have lowered it really, but the shock of what he was looking at held him still.

The man before him was butt naked, modesty only saved by the way he was curled in on himself. Black hair was overly long and matted with grease and filth, falling over bony shoulders which were equally dirty. His skin was mottled with bruises and scars, some cuts looking just a few days old, dried blood smeared across the too thin body and floor. Thick shackles rose from the wall to wrap around narrow wrists, skin shredded from the overly tight cuffs. Pale ankles, one at the wrong angle, were locked together with what looked like a crude spreader bar, it seeming as if the breakage was the only reason bony thighs could press together.

Jon felt sick. As much as the guys called him ignorant of the world, he was aware that humans were sometimes treated worse than cattle. But seeing it in person… he wanted to hurl. He gasped for breath, trying not to take the flinch personally, finally tilting the light away as to not hurt the other’s eyes. Ditching his back a few feet away, he couched, edging his way towards the stranger, praying they wouldn’t panic.

“Shhhh, s-shhhh,” he soothed at the next flinch, opening his palms in the universal gesture of peace. “I’m not gunna hurt ya, I promise.” The mumble was low, blue staying locked onto damaged skin, body freezing without permission when the arm finally lowered. The man whispered, “You speak English,” but Jon’s brain had shut down.

The face revealed was as damaged as the rest of him, bruised and cut, nose crooked as if it had been broken. His cheekbones looked like they could cut glass, eyes and cheeks sunken from malnutrition, lips thin and cracked. But those coffee brown eyes, dull as they were, would never fail to make the paler man’s heart skip. His breath caught in his chest, mind racing with questions of **_how, why, who?,_** fingers shaking from their position in the air. The moment seemed to stretch on for years, until something cracked, deep in his chest, cleaving his soul in two as Jon murmured the only thing he could.

“ _Evan?”_


	15. Basement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE TAKE NOTE OF THE WARNINGS AND TAGS!!!!

It wasn’t possible.

Jon ears were ringing oddly, room swaying from his suspected concussion, eyes straining with an odd sort of hyper-focus. Every beat of his heart felt like a kick to the chest, knocking loose the little air he managed to capture, the stale air swirling dust into his eyes, lids refusing to blink incase it changed the room. Incase he woke up back in Greensboro, hidden away in his house, waiting for the next shift at the club.

Because there was no way, no hell on Earth, that Evan Fong was sat, beaten and bruised, in some creepy Thai basement having been thought dead for two years.

Said man who was currently snarling at him.

**_Crap._ **

Flinching wildly, he focused back in on the sounds.

“…You deaf bastard, how the fuck do you know my name?” the younger finished growling, immediately erasing any lingering doubts Jonathan may have had. Despite never having heard the Canadian sound so furious, Delirious had been listening to it for years and had no trouble recognising it, the sound resonating with his very soul. He froze for a moment, allowing the sense of _finality_ to wash over him, before registering the words directed at him.

Blinking, he focused on furious brown, stumbling for a response.

“You… But… B-because I know you!” He stuttered, eyes widening impossibly further when the shorter snarled again. “Evan…” he whispered weakly.

“Who the fuck are you?” The Asian barked, fists clenching and chains jangling as he strained forward, looking for all his worth ready to attack. Jon took a step back without registering it, blue scanning the near feral man before him. Wasted arms twisted painfully from where they were anchored, blood running sluggishly from the cuffs, dripping onto boney thighs, wonky ankle crunching horribly in its hold.

Evan didn’t even flinch at the noise, the only sign he felt it being a tightening around fire filled brown. His breathing was wheezy, rapid despite the lack of movement, sallow cheeks paling dangerously, body swaying despite being sat down. Jon reached out, wanting to stabilise his friend, but yanked back when the smaller snapped at him.

**_What the actual fuck, Vanoss just tried to bite me. In a basement. In Thailand. What?_ **

Now wary of the angry Canadian, he switched back to using his words.

“Evan, V-vanoss, it’s me. Jonathan.” Never, over the past seven years, ever thought he’s had to tell his friend _who_ he was. He imagined shouting, crying, laughter, insults, anything but this. This… this was _awful._

And the next line was even worse.

“And who the fuck is that?”

That… that was heartbreaking.

Jon’s mouth opened at the same time as a door slammed above, teeth clacking violently as both their eyes swivelled towards the door. Evan’s wheezing and growling upped as footsteps echoed towards the door, sounding like they were coming down some frankly shitty stairs.

Heart racing, he glanced once more at the other, before grabbing his bag and launching quickly behind a large crate, limbs flailing in effort to hide himself away. Feeling exposed, pale hands fumbled with some heavy looking netting, trying his best not to sneeze at the sheer amount of dust that came down, covering himself in a way that blocked most of the room. Only Vanoss remained visible, feral expression exposed through a tiny gap in the boxes, looking more pissed and terrified by the second.

He couldn’t even see the men who entered, the noise of their chatter booming in the near silent room. Jon had no chance at understanding the rapid Thai, his limited knowledge giving away nothing as they stood a few feet away. His heart pounded loudly, almost blocking out the noise of keys jangling, Evan’s snarling just adding to the noise.

His friend was looking more and more like a wild animal someone had cornered, body vibrating with tension, now straining backwards into the corner, rather than in attack mode. It made sense when a reedy looking man stepped forward, finally visible to Jon, holding several keys and snapping harshly at the Canadian.

Evan flinched but, to his credit, kept glaring, teeth bared as he scrambled further towards the wall. Jon could only watch in horror as the second bulkier man stepped forward, dark eyes staring hungrily at the gamer on the floor, accented voice questioning as he spoke to the first man. They spoke for several more moments, ignoring the other party in the room, before silence fell, each man moving in sync.

Jon nearly screamed when the smaller one grabbed Vanoss, weak struggles being ignored as he began unlocking the cuffs, exposing torn and puffy flesh. His fists clenched automatically, fingers knocking against something cold. Glancing down, he saw the section of metal pipe, for a brief moment weighing his options. He could easily take out the first guy, but the broader one… he didn’t like his options.

But the decision was made for him the second a softer clinking echoed over, blue snapping up just in time to see the second man drop his belt to the floor, erect cock exposed through the V of his pants.

Terrified chocolate brown found his gaze one last time, shame filling them with tears, before tired lists closed, battered face looking resigned.

Jon didn’t think. It was like an out of body experience, pale hand grabbing the metal and long legs launched himself back over the crate, in the most graceful move of his life. The netting fell limply to the floor as he smashed the pipe into the larger man’s temple, body falling like a brick. The slimy bastard holding the keys shrieked something but fell just as quick when Jon’s weapon connected with his face, groaning loudly until a final boot knocked him out cold.

Panting wildly, the American snatched the keys from their place next to the unconscious man, darting forward to unlock the shackled around Evan’s ankles, shorter male staring at him in wonder. Jon wasted no time in yanking the younger to his feet, doing his best not to vomit at the sight of bone sticking out of flesh, not giving his friend a chance to think as he began hauling him towards the stairs.

He didn’t stop until they were back on the street, rain still falling heavily on their faces, washing away the grime of the room. Not trusting the men to stay passed out, he tried pulling his incapacitated friend down the street, towards the hospital he had seen earlier (had it really just been a few minutes? It felt like he had been in that basement for _years._ ) but Evan refused to move.

Looking back at his friend for the first time since seeing him, Jon paused, caught in the wild look on the bruised face, grip wavering as he watched the younger. Evan must have felt the loosened hold, because with no warning, he bolted.

**_Fuck._ **


	16. Fire

It was surprisingly difficult to keep up with a man with a broken ankle. Jon had to suppose it was something to do with being kept in a basement for close to three years, so in retrospect he couldn’t really blame Evan, assuming he was running on pure adrenaline.

But that didn’t help him keep up, blue locked onto the pale ass in front, legs stretching with the effort, water sloshing up his already sodden jeans as he hurled himself forward. It felt like hours before the Canadian began to slow down, leg finally collapsing with a puke-worthy crunch, sending Evan careering into the side of a building. His head cracked against the wall, dazing the shorter long enough for Jon to collapse by his side, heavy breathing mingling in the damp air.

For a second the only sound was their gasps and the thundering rain, Jon scanning those pale cheeks, worry mounting at the paper-thin skin, flushed with exertion. Evan looked confused and stressed, head wobbling as he stared up at the American, eyes unfocused.

“W-why?” he murmured, lids fluttering with an obvious concussion. “I don’t understand who you are.”

Jon sighed, pushing his dripping hair back from his eyes, face softening as he focused on his friend.

“Because…” he whispered back, only sign Vanoss heard being the violent flinch. “Because it’s me Evan.” He stretched his arms out, palms up in peace, still not daring to touch his friend. “It’s Delirious.”

Brown widened infinitesimally for half a second, before rolling back into his skull as the shorter passed out. Sighing once more, Jon ducked forward, scooping up the frail body and turning away to walk back towards the hospital. Jaw clenching at the lack of weight his friend had, he followed the only consistent signs in the city, muscles only relaxing when the building was in sight.

It didn’t take long for Evan to be pulled out of his arms and onto a trolley, people yelling manically as they wheeled him away, several nurses grabbing his arms to stop him following them straight into theatre, reassuring him in a language he couldn’t understand. He stared blankly at them until a man pointed him towards some seats, shoving a takeaway cup of coffee in his hands and gesturing vaguely to stay there.

He sat for what felt like hours, clothes dripping silently on the floor, fists clenched in an effort to stop himself shaking. He ignored the side glances he got from various locals, a combination of worried and disapproving looks being shot his way, only paying attention when a man in scrubs appeared in front of him.

The doctor looked exhausted, top askew and stained, short hair greasy and stuck up. Weary eyes locked onto Jon, for the first time not with disgust, but relief.

“You were one who came in with naked man, yes?” It took a second for his brain to register the man was referring to Evan, brain too fried to get his head around the man’s accent (frankly, his attempt at English wasn’t half bad) and remember his friend had indeed been butt naked when he brought him in.

But once he did, his mouth was on. “YES!” he almost shouted, flushing awkwardly at the volume, before hurriedly lowering his tone. “Shit, s-sorry, shit, umm… yeah that was me. He’s my friend, Evan Fong, he’s been missing, or dead… but not dead, but gone. Is he ok?”

Tired eyes blinked blankly at him, confusion evident at Jon’s crazed rambling, blinking slowly before he reiterated.

“You bring in the naked man.” Jon shuffled, gesturing vaguely at himself.

“Yeah, naked man, I was with him. That is me. With the naked man, yes… me,” he finished lamely, hands falling limply. The doctor seemed to accept that, waving the American forward whilst turning to walk towards the ward. Jon span wildly for a moment, sighing when he realised he had left his bag in the torture basement from hell, before jogging after the surgeon, uneager to be left behind.

The winding corridors acted like a maze, leading them deeper into the hospital, the smell of disinfectant and chemicals overwhelming. They past several people, varying from harried nurses and doctors, to grieving relatives and dying patients. The dread built the further they walked, halls seeming endless, doors passing with little attention.

Finally, they came across an entrance, only opening when the Doc’s card was swiped against a control pad, doors swinging wide to reveal what had to be ICU. Curtains were drawn around most of the beds, but one was a flurry of activity, frantic voices of the nurses drowned out by the panicked screams of a clearly still drugged Evan, arms flailing wildly as he attempted to escape his captors.

Jon didn’t hesitate in darting forward, shoving aside nurses and doctors to grab freshly bandaged wrists, yanking the frantic Asian towards him, meeting wild brown with his own fiery blue. It took a second for the recognition to hit, at which point spider thin fingers gripped his still damp jacket, shaking him slightly.

“Get them the fuck away from me,” came the desperate snarl, Jon immediately nodding.

“Yeah, yeah, I will. Evan, calm down and I’ll get ‘em to back off, just calm down, p-please,” he begged, terrified about the red beginning to seep from under the bandages. The struggling stopped, but the younger didn’t let go, leaving Jon to swing a look over his shoulder, voiced pleading as he asked, “Can you guys back up a bit. Please.”

Blank looks were shot his way, Jon face palming mentally when he remembered the language barrier, desperately searching out the man who had brought him hear. Making eye contact, he spoke as calmly and clearly as he could.

“He’s scared. Can you give us some space? You know, ask them to leave. Please, go? Please.” It was almost pathetic, his begging, but he couldn’t stop until he got an understanding nod, the doctor calling out words he couldn’t understand but thankfully made the other staff back off. Evan relaxed against his chest, expression still wary as Jon leant him back against the pillows, brown still rapidly flickering between the few figures still left in sight.

That gave Jon a minute to scan his friend, taking in the various stitches and now clean skin. Long hair had been chopped back dramatically and even shaved in some areas, exposing the nasty bruising and cuts that littered the back of his skull and neck. The discolouration was still prominent on his face, nose covered with layers of cotton, eyes slightly less sunken but still overly large and round.

Narrow collarbones were exposed by the too large gown, surgical looking scar gliding over one and sliding down under the fabric. The slowly reddening wrist wraps looked professional and neat, blood dribbling from the back of his hand where the IV had been torn out, tube still hanging from his wrist. An overly thin chest shook with the force of the younger’s gasps, breaths still sounding wheezy and uneven. The blankets had been thrown to the floor, exposing the metal work and bandaging that covered most of his right ankle, leaving only the tip of his toes visible from his knee downwards.

Jon was so caught up in the damage, he forgot there weren’t alone, jolting when the doctor appeared next to him.

“Ankle very damaged, we did best we could…” the man trailed off, eyes widening at Evan’s renewed growls, man sounding for all his while like a feral animal. Skilled hands rose in a placating move but did nothing to dissuade the younger male who was beginning to shift once more, most likely looking for an escape route. He didn’t exactly relax when Jon rested a hand on his shoulder, but he stopped shifting, allowing the elder to become a protective barrier between the men.

“Sorry, he’s… he’s hurt ya know…” Jon muttered, ignoring the sarcastic huff behind him to talk to the doctor. Who obviously didn’t know, but oh well. Shooting a confused look his way, the Doc continued.

“It will take long time to heal, and he very thin, so we keep him for now.” That seemed to spark a new fire in Evan, thin body shooting upright and voice filled with finality.

“NO”, he snapped, ignoring the doctors indignant look to stare Jon down instead. “I’m not staying here, not around them.” Blinking in shock, he stumbled for a response.

“But…. You’re… Evan… Where would you go?” he finally stuttered out, eyes wide. Evan didn’t flinch, brown defiant as he snarled out his response.

“Take me back to Canada. I’m going home.” A beat passed, overwhelming sadness filling his heart as he gaped at the shorter. Hand shaking, he rested it back on the narrow forearm, unsure whether he wanted to cry due to the boniness, or the viscous way Evan shoved him away. Blinking away the tears, because **_come on Jonathan, no time to be a girl_** , he started again.

“Ev, bud…”

“I am not your bud,” the younger hissed, cutting him off. Raising his hands in surrender, he apologised.

“Ok… sorry dude,” he placated, before carrying on. “It’s just, I don’t think you can fly right now, considering, ya know, you’re f-fucked up at the min.” The glare he got in return could melt steel, the Canadian looking ready to inflict some damage despite his frail state. Thin fingers once again dug into his jacket, Jon noting some of them were strapped, and pulled him within inches of that crooked nose.

“I. Am. Going. Home.”

Jon was released with a shove, sending him staggering back into the curtains, bruised jaw set in defiance. Jon exchanged a look with the elder man, who still looked mostly confused, before sighing heavily and running a hand through his own messy locks. Shuffling back, but staying well out of Evan’s hitting range, he began again.

“Yeah, ok, we’ll get you home. But…” Evan’s mouth snapped open, but Jon just carried on. “but you’ve gotta get better first. No one’s gunna let you on a p-plane lookin’ like that.” For a split second Vanoss looked offended, before his expression melted back to fury.

“I’m not staying here,” he barked, mocha brown locking with azure blue, thousands of emotions zipping between the two, halting the very Earth it’s self as they just watched each other. Jon refused to break the contact, even as the Doctor coughed awkwardly behind them, waiting for an already damaged man to break.

And it happened, slowly, second by second as the fire and anger dimmed and died, leaving nothing but pain and exhaustion in it’s wake. It broke Jon’s heart to see, but not as much as Evan’s next words did.

“Jonathan, I _can’t_ stay here,” the younger whispered, desperation leaking from every action.

Biting his lip, Jon leant back once more, glancing around as if it would give him ideas. He knew he couldn’t move Evan, let alone over several thousand miles of land and open ocean, but he also saw why the man wanted to leave. He had been _tortured_ by those men, a combination of beatings and sexual assault leaving him terrified of everyone, even the person who saved him.

Yet if he was determined to return to Canada…

**_Fuck yes._ **

Grinning, he turned back to the men watching him.

“I’ve gotsa plan. You gotta phone?”


	17. Lori

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the words of Thor: ANOTHER!

One extremely long phone call and a three hour wait later, they heard the thudding of helicopter blades above as it landed on the roof. Several beats passed, Evan’s gaze fixed firmly on the door whilst Jon watched the Canadian, praying the arrivals had listened to his suggestions. It wouldn’t do well to send his friend back into a furious silence.

Luckily only on person came through the door to the ward, a tall willowy woman with a dark complexion, curly hair pulled back in a tight bun, clipboard and phone in hand. She ignored the shut curtains, striding directing towards the two, expression remaining professionally neutral even as Evan growled at her.

Dark eyes merely flicked over the hostile man, before landing squarely on Jon, slim hand swinging out in offer.

“You must be Jonathan. We spoke on the phone earlier, I’m Lori Woodward, a representative for the Canadian Embassy.” Jon rose, gripping her hand in a brief shake before they both turned to Evan. “We spoke about an Evan Fong, which I assume is this gentleman here.”

She didn’t offer her hand to the younger man, probably for the best as he still looked wary, but at least he had stopped growling, most likely due to the familiar Canadian accent Lori possessed. Instead she gave Evan a short nod, before pulling up her clipboard.

“Right, so before I can start mobilising any resources, I do have some questions to ask, if that is ok with you two?” They nodded mutely. “Good. We’ll start with Mr. Fong, nice and easy to begin with. Could you tell me your full name and date of birth?”

Lori was obviously experienced, diving in with little hesitation. She held herself tall and composed, face carefully blank as she waited for an answer. Evan on the other hand… any confidence Jon may have once associated with his friend was gone. There was mistrust behind the mask of bruises, eyes wary and voice careful as he replied.

“Evan James Fong, the thirty first of May, nineteen ninety two.” Another nod.

“Parent’s names?”

“Lee and Hana Fong.”

“Any siblings?”

“Matthew, my older brother and Alexandria, my twin, though she would stab you for calling that.” Blue eyes almost missed the soft twerk of thin lips as Evan’s vision turned distant, voice a ghost of his past self as he let loose the joke. The look was gone as quick as it appeared, but didn’t stop Jon from phasing away from the questioning as he watched minute emotions dance through guarded mocha, the only piece that seemed familiar about the man he knew.

There was nothing left of the cheeky, playful quick-witted man that he had once know. This hardened shell of a human was so far from the loud sass that Jon was used to, that he even created in his own head… for a second, he doubted. What if this wasn’t Evan, what if it just happened to be someone who shared the name? What if he was just looking for a free ride out of the country?

But then Jon paused his thoughts. He scanned the mass of bruises in front of him, found his eyes again in the mess. Saw the defiance, the life buried deep beneath the pain, the spark of life that was Vanoss, still holding his cards close despite all that he had been through. There was familiarity in those eyes that had show Jon his friend in a dingy basement, that screamed away the insecurities, that was so purely Evan Fong that he was ashamed he thought different.

The same eyes suddenly shut down, sheild of fury leaking across anything else, looking ready to set the world on fire. Jon just caught the barked “What?”, deciding to tune back in.

Lori cleared her throat, shifting in the seat she had retrieved and straightening her board, never losing eye contact as she repeated herself.

“I asked, Mr. Fong, what happened the day you were taken?”

Jon flinched. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear this, and by the looks of it Evan didn’t want to tell. Everything screamed stubborn silence from the man, from clenched fists and ramrod spine, jaw set despite the pain it probably caused. Only then did the woman’s expression soften, eyes filling full of sadness and pity. That just seemed to infurate Evan more, the gamer physically bristling before snarling out his next phrase.

“I don’t need your pity.”

“Really?” Lori sighed, refusing to look put out. “Cause you look pretty pitiful to me.”

Jon’s jaw dropped, shocked by the woman’s pure balls, only to snap it back shut when Evan snorted. The younger ignored his questioning look, refusing to look away from his fellow Canadian.

“I’ll cry, that’ll complete your picture,” the tanned man sassed back, a tiny spark of the Vanoss feist returning, earning him a small smile from the professional. But then the smile was gone, the serious line being pulled back once more as she continued, albeit more gently.

“I’m sorry Evan, but I really do need to know. It’s protocol in order to get plans in motion to get you home.”

But still the man hesitated, brown flicking to blue before darting away. Heart breaking, Jon realised, taking the chance to make the decision.

“I’m just… I-I’m going to… to get out, GO, go out,” he stuttered, face heating once more as he struggled to get the words out in understandable English. He ignored the look he got when he nearly tripped over his chair in his hurry to leave, only freezing when Evan called out.

“Stay,” the shorter snapped, sounding rather angry considering he was demanding Jon stayed. The elder spun back, eyebrow raising without command, incredulous look directed at the bed ridden man. This time it was Evan’s face that flushed, blotchy red overtaking shallow cheeks and he continued glaring. “Please,” he continued, still sounding rather put out, but only relaxing when Jon fell back into his seat.

A second brow rose to meet the first when the younger didn’t look away, red spreading to bruised ears as a thin finger rose to flip him off, a soft “Bitch” escaping in the wake of his snort. Lori had to clear her throat to pull their attention back, a reminder of how they go to this point. Evan just sighed, relaxing back into his pillows as he began.

“Not much to tell,” the Canasian grumbled, now back to staring Lori down. “I was coming back from the gym, like I do… did every Tuesday, took a short cut through an ally. A van pulled up at the end, some dude jumped out and hit me in the face with a fucking wrench. Next thing I know I’m in a crate on my way to this shitty country, before being chained in someone’s torture dungeon.”

There was a second when the only sound was the scribble of Lori’s pen, until she stopped and glanced up.

“Anything else? Description of the van, and people you encountered?”

“That’s it,” Evan growled, suddenly looking extremely hostile again. Jon wanted to reach out and hug the man, still able to see the fear his friend was trying so hard to hide but had a feeling he would most likely loose a finger. it was frustrating, being so close to the younger, but unable to reach out. He felt like a man dying of thirst with a bucket of water just a few feet away. So close, yet so far.

Lori once again interrupted his train of thought, apparently done with her paper work as she rose once more, turning to leave.

“Thank you, Mr. Fong. Jonathan, would it be possible to speak to you outside for a moment? There’s just a couple of questions I have for you.”

“Sure,” he stated, glancing towards Evan with a hopefully reassuring smile, receiving little more than a blank stare as he followed the woman out. There was no shout this time, but something told Jon to keep in view of the window, leaning back against the jammed door in order to stay in view of the bed ridden man. Lori said nothing, just giving him an amused look before her professional mask reappeared.

“Well it seems like you were right, that does, for all intents and purposes, appear to be the Evan Fong. And by the look of him, he was very lucky you found him,” she stated, ignoring Jon’s awkward shuffling. “We’ll be able to get him back to Canada the minute he’s well enough to fly, the only problem being how little he is willing to reveal about what exactly happened. We can’t get the law involved if we don’t even know where to look.”

Blue eyes widened slightly, brain already racing as he struggled to remember.

“It-it was a basement, in the city. I fell… fell through the r-roof trying to find my hotel. Found Ev-Evan when I was trying to get out. Some dude… he came down with another, started unlocking the cuffs. I hit ‘em with a pipe, ya know, got out of there with Evan. I dunno…” he trailed off, hand’s shaking as he remember exactly what he had seen in that dusty room. Lori face was also pinched, looking as if she was struggling to remain composed.

“Could you take us there?”

Jon paused. “I dunno if I-I can remember. I was lost when I fell in and Evan ran away when we got out… even forgot my bag…”

Lori was looking rather disappointed, preparing to turn away when the idea hit like a train to the face.

“Wait,” he nearly shouted. “Wait, my-my phone was in my back bag, bag pack, BACK PACK. Could… could you track it?”

For a second, Lori just looked dubious, but ever so slowly the spark of an idea lit up her features.

“We could… with the right information…” she mussed, grinning rising when Jon scrambled to answer.

“Anything,” he stated, world brightening a fraction. “Anything you need.”

They would get those fuckers.


	18. To Safety

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, slow chaoters, got a lot of personal shit going on

It apparently only took two hours to organise the mobilisation of a broken man, including doctors fluent in English, multiple nurses, the police force of Lampang, a helicopter and a flight to Bangkok. Evan refused to say a word, glaring at anyone who dared to venture too close, body tense as his various monitors were unhooked in order to attach the portable ones. Jon stayed nearby, doing his best not to take the various dirty looks and stubborn silence personally.

  
It was understandable that the younger would be wary, having been through such abuse. But, since Lori left, he was treating the American on level with the various strangers that were dashing about, refusing to respond with any more than glares.  
It left Jon sighing, fiddling with his now dry sleeve, missing his phone. He wanted to help really, but other than contacting the guys, he really wasn’t of much use. It was only when they began rolling Evan away did he rise, doing his best to stay in eye line of the Canadian, jogging along to keep up with the porters. They met the main Doctor on the way, the woman instructing serval nurses surrounding her, clipboard being rapidly filled. She shot them a harried smile, having introduced herself on her initial arrival, before turning through the door to the roof.

  
The rain was still pouring from the sky, whipped into their faces by the helicopter’s blades. Jon had to squint in order to keep track of the bed, hair flicking across his vision as they loaded the bed into the craft, Evan loosing what little colour he had. Wild brown struggled to stay locked on Jon, teeth gritted in effort to turn. Long limbs scrabbled over the soggy edge, struggling not to slip, and he almost fell into his seat, ignoring the amused grin of the nurse that handed him a headset.

  
The headphones were a familiar weight, pale hands falling on his knees as if he had a keyboard and mouse, ears straining for the sound of familiar voices over the chatter of the pilots. His grin formed automatically at the sight of Evan with his own seat, familiar look leaking through the bruises as wrapped fingers reached to fiddle with the mic, low thudding floating through the voices as Evan tapped the receiver.

  
The Canadian glared once more when the male nurse frowned, but Jon could see the spark of amusement hiding behind dark eyes, only growing at his amused snort. But all too soon the door was slamming shut, leaving them back on edge as the helicopter took off. But the flight seemed smooth, despite the wet weather, the noise of the pilots and the doctor talking lulling Jon into a sense of calm as they made their way towards the airport.

  
He stayed quiet, watching the female nurse check various vitals, shooting his friend looks when he looked ready to bolt, grinning at the pissed off look he earned. Said disgruntled look switched over to the male nurse, who was currently discussing Evan’s mental stability despite the fact the shitty mics were picking up on every word.

  
Brown returned to blue, rolling with exasperation at the mention of psychologists, before crumpling into offence at the phrase “difficult patient”. Jon, unable to hold it back any longer, dissolved into laughter, earning several strange looks from their companions.

  
But he didn’t care, suddenly feeling like he was back in his office in North Carolina, laughing with his idiot of a best friend, playing some stupid game to entertain a bunch of strangers. Nothing to fear, with all of them safe and in one piece. For one precious moment, his worries melted away, leaving him feeling light as a feather.

  
Then he heard his own manic giggles echoing back through the headset, and the anxiety was back. The poor quality left his voice sounding too close to the recorded version, blue widening as he searched the medics for any sign of recognition. Luckily, they just gave him odd looks before turning back to their jobs, more worried about Evan than the crazy man who had found him. Sighing in relief, he turned back to the Canadian, only to falter.

  
His friend was staring, bruised face carefully blank, mocha eyes filled with some unreadable emotion. The elder froze, eyes wide and innocent as he looked back questioningly, not even a raised brow making the other look away. The gaze remained, even as they landed at the airport, only being torn away when several men appeared at the door, unbuckling Evan’s bed and pulling it from the chopper.

  
Ignoring the growls, the ground crew were quick to roll the bed ridden man towards a regional jet, the larger craft only a few hundred yards away and carry the Canadian flag on the tail. Jon was left jogging behind as they rushed Evan up the steps, a thick set man patting them all down before they boarded, Lori appearing in the galley to guide Jon to his seat.

  
She stood patiently to the side as he buckled himself in, silently handing him rucksack afterwards, back looking cleaner than it had since he bought it. He shot her a thankful look before burrowing through it, easily finding his phone and laptop, both fully charged. Risking the roaming charges, he shot a quick message to Luke.

  
**Still in thailand, shit going sown, safe thou. Talk later**

  
Shutting the device off, he flopped back into the seat, watching Lori as she organised the next few days. He was just listening to the hospital arrangements when furrowed black brows caught his eye once more. Evan was frowning from his place opposite, gaze calculating as he stared unwaveringly. There was almost confusion in his look, head cocked as he scanned the American.

  
Lori shot them both looks as the plane taxied, eyebrow raised as she flicked back and forth between the two, as if they were an interesting tennis match. As soon as they were in the air, she unbuckled, crouching next to Jon as the Doctor checked over Evan.

  
“I don’t know what’s going on, and I don’t really want to,” she murmured, keeping a careful watch on the bed just a few feet away. Jon must have pulled a face, because she sighed. “Don’t, it’s not my job. Just remember, as an American, you don’t come under our jurisdiction. So we can’t make you stay, but we also can’t protect you if you fuck with any laws or anything.”

  
With one last look, she rose, pulling the Medical staff towards the back of the cabin, leaving the two gamers alone. There was a beat of silence, blue clashing with brown, before Evan finally spoke.

  
“You’re him.”

  
It wasn’t a question. More of an accusation, despite the lack of details. Freezing, Jon scrambled for an answer.

  
“What?” _ **Nice dude, eloquent as always.**_

  
Evan didn’t look impressed either.

  
“You,” the younger snarled, pointing with a bandaged finger, “are _him_ , aren’t you. You’re Jonathan.”

  
Another pause, and a breath.

  
“I thought I’d dreamt it, in that alley, thought the pain had made me _delirious_. But that was you, wasn’t it.” A sharp laugh. “It was you who found me, you who saved me. Its why you know who I am. It’s why you keep looking at me like that.”

  
Jon blinked. _**What the hell…?**_

  
But then it hit.

  
He remembered what he told Evan in that alley, when he asked why he cared, he remembered laughing through that crappy mic, giving a glimpse to his online persona. Evan hadn’t realised he was Delirious.

  
Swearing under his breath, pale hands scrambled for the belt buckle, cool metal unwilling to cooperate. It finally released with a clink, long legs shaking as he rose, crossing the cabin in just a few short strides, gripping the trolley railing with a passion he didn’t know he could have. Evan leaned away, refusing to break eye contact whilst maintaining his personal bubble, body tense as he waited for an attack that wouldn’t come.

  
Jon paused, catching the flash of fear behind the wall of emotion, taking a deep breath to relax his muscles and be less threatening. He would never attack his friends, and he didn’t want the younger to think so. He released the bar, moving a step back with palms up, arms open so Evan could see he meant no harm, before he explained.

  
“Yeah Ev, it’s me,” he whispered, voice shaking from the stress of emotion. “I am Delirious.”

  
Evan next words, he didn’t expect.

  
“Prove it.”


	19. Sedatives

He blinked, confused.

“How?”

The word slipped out before his brain could catch up, not used to the level of mistrust filling Mocha brown. Evan had never been so obvious about it, mostly just brushing off questions with a stupid joke or insult, changing the topic smoothly enough Jon wouldn’t realise until several hours later. It was rare the Asian left him speechless in such a way, scrambling for a response that wasn’t for argumentative purposes.

Evan just stared right back, looking extremely unimpressed, eyebrow cocked as if to say, ‘ _you figure it out’._

Sighing, Jon leant back, propping his hip against one of the seats as he considered how to approach the matter.

The problem was, with their online lifestyles, there weren’t many moments between the two that were kept from the public. All their best times as friends, all their best memories, were immortalised on the internet, known to anyone who spent some effort researching. To find something about him, that only Evan knew…

Then it hit him. There was nothing Jon could say that only Evan knew about himself, but there was plenty of stuff he knew about Evan that the rest of the world didn’t. Blue brightened as he straightened up, grin forming despite the incredulous look he was receiving from across the cabin.

“Y-You want me to prove I’m D-Delirious?” he smirked. “How ‘bout the fact I know you, bitch. I know you love pizza, but calorie count like y-your life depends on it. Y’all act cool, but you’re actually a giant nerd who collects action figures and fanboy ssshit. You, you… you tease _everyone_ to show them you care, make p-p-people laugh because it makes you happy to make ‘em happy.”

Evan’s eyes had widened, thin face shocked, but Jon wasn’t finished.

“You’ve got a twin sister, Alex, who you h-hide so she doesn’t have to deal with the crap of fame, and, and your brother Matt, who you look up to but would never tell him, cause you’re a little shit like that. You moved to LA because people wanted you to, but you miss Canadia and hockey and your family. I know you spend months planning Xmas presents, and more money than you’re willing to admit. You’re a little bitch, and behind that, you’re still a bitch, but in a good way. Cause your… you’re a carin’ bitch, ya know?”

He gazed imploring at the younger, hoping his point was getting across, but nearly passed out from shock when that beautifully familiar laugh burst forth, rougher and more broken than he remembered, but so distinctly Evan in the way his eyes lit up and cheeks flushed from joy. It left Jon speechless, staring in wonder at the enigma of his best friend, giggling despite the hell he’d been through. It was like finding the man all over again, but twice as good, seeing the person he could spill his soul too in the dead of night.

“If anyone’s a bitch, it’s you, you dick,” the younger gasped breathlessly, finally knocking Jon from his thoughts long enough to start laughing himself, voices mingling in the cabin in a symphony Jon had dreamt of since the last time they played. For a second, it hadn’t been years of pain and suffering, and they were still two guys trying to make a living as people laughed.

Their joy was cut off quickly although, Evan suddenly doubling over in pain, coughing roughly as he gripped at his chest. Jon’s laugh died as quickly as it came, moving to rush forward, only to find himself being shoved back by the Doctor as she forced the Canadian to lie back, ordering various drugs to be pushed into his IV and checking the bandages still wrapped firmly around thin ribs. Evan weakly batted at the hands, panic leaking into his eyes, but too weak to shove them away.

Without thinking, Jon darted for a gap in the bodies, grabbing one of the flailing limbs to hold a fragile hand tight. Brown flew to meet his face, wide with fear, but he gazed back firmly, a silent promise of ‘ _It’s gunna be ok’_ being sent. There was a beat, mistrust fighting the grip he had, until it finally gave in to trust, bruised fingers wrapping around his own paler ones in a returning hold, Evan relaxing as the coughs subsided.

The medics eventually stepped back as the drugs kicked in, translucent lids falling to half mast as the cocktail of medication worked its magic. A wobbly smile was sent his way, cracked lips parting to reveal stained teeth.

“Thanks,” he slurred, sleepy look tugging at Jon’s heart.

“S’ok,” he murmured back, allowing their still joined hands to fall on the pillow beside Evan’s face. “Gotta watch out fur bitches like you.”

That earned him a soft snort, lids falling fully shut as quiet fell over them again. He shifted, leaning against the hull of the plane by the younger’s head, purposely ignoring the questioning looks being shot his way by Lori. He had spent years guarding both Evan’s and his own secrets, he wasn’t about to stop now.

“And Jon?” Evan mumbled, eyes remaining shut but face tilting upwards. Blue flicked away from the woman opposite to scan his friend once more, warm hand keeping him connect to the fact that it was really Vanoss he was looking at.

“Hmm?” he hummed, easily catching Cocoa irises that struggled to reappear.

“You looked better as a clown,” the Canadian finally garbled, weak grin gracing his face before sleep won out, relaxing the damaged surface into something resembling peace. Jon couldn’t stop his own smile from growing, soft snort escaping as he uselessly replied.

“Say’s the owl boy,” he whispered to the unconscious party, grinning down at the familiar features. There was no response, not that he expected one, leaving Jon to settle against the wall for the remainder of the flight. Lori was only able to force him back into his seat for landing, palm feeling oddly cool after losing his grip, left with nothing but air where there was once body heat. He didn’t get a chance to get back to his place by Evan side as they left the plane and climbed into a waiting ambulance, forced by lack of space to sit further away.

Despite this, he kept a close watch over the sleeping Canasian, making sure to stay within eyeline should the younger decide to wake. The last thing he wanted was Evan panicking because he woke up in a strange environment without a familiar face, but his efforts proved futile as the Canadian slept through the ruckus, bed soon settled in a private hospital room in Bangkok. Jon was mostly ignored as the officials worked, various men and women appearing to speak to Lori only to disappear after a few moments of quiet conversation.

This left the American to hover as close to Evan as he could get, what with the various medical professionals checking vitals and hooking up machines and IVs. They had obviously used some hardcore sedatives because Evan never even flinched, dead to the world around him, just a bit too still to be a natural sleep.

It left Jonathan feeling a bit to on edge, knowing the younger wouldn’t be pleased with the amount of touching in his current state, so he set up guard from across the room, azure blue carefully watching each person that approached his friend. At one point several nurses began unwinding the bandaging tangled around the metal work in his leg, exposing the mangled skin underneath, packed full of stitches and staples, rods and clamps everywhere.

It was a mess to look at, and the Doctor looked concerned as she glanced between her tablet and the limb. Jon could faintly see the black and white of an X-ray on the screen, nothing vaguely representing a bone in the image. She swiped, showing another one, this one with the metal in place. Frankly, it didn’t look much better in his opinion.

The Doctor must have noticed his concerned look, because she gave him a strained smile, stepping closer to show him the screen better.

“I’ll be honest,” she began, defeat in her voice. “It doesn’t look good. I don’t think any more can be done to try and rebuild the framework for the bone, but even if it does heal, it’s going to be pretty weak.”

Jon blinked at her, unconsciously chewing on his cheek as he considered what that would mean for his friend.

“S-s-so, he won’t be able to like… walk and stuff?”

She sighed.

“I can’t say for certain right now, but his chances aren’t looking good.” Pale green eyes met his own, full of sympathy. “Mr. Fong isn’t looking at an easy recovery, physically or mentally. He’s going to need a lot of support.”

And with that she gave him a meaningful look before walking away to talk to a nurse, leaving Jon to gaze as his friend, wondering what the future held for the gamer.


	20. Uncertainty

Jon woke to the shivery feeling he got when being stared at, spine tensing with stiff muscles as he straightened in his chair. The room was as empty as when he fell asleep, void of life excluding Vanoss and himself, leaving blue eyes to wander towards the bed.

The younger man was finally awake, sedatives and exhaustion having long since worn off, chocolate brown alight with curiosity as they scanned him. It sent another shudder through him, being watched in such away, feeling a bit awkward. He wasn’t used to people looking at him like he was something to pay attention to.

He must have made a face, though, because Evan let a small grin appear, curious look morphing into one of teasing.

“You talk when you sleep,” the Canadian stated, chuckling at his noise of displeasure. “Makes even less sense that when you talk normally.”

Snorting, Jon relaxed, stretching his stiff shoulders and running a palm through his hair. It was rather greasy at this point, and he vaguely wondered of there was a shower nearby.

“Ha ha, laugh it u-up Bitch,” he sassed back, azure rolling at the cheeky expression on his friends face. Own expression turning serious, he scanned over the thin form. “How you feeling?”

The joy dropped from Evan’s features as quickly as they had appeared, eyes tightening as he gave a short ‘fine’ in response. Jon almost accepted it, but noticed the broken nails scratching at the extensive fabric wrapped around his wrists, own frown forming as he watched.

“You sure? Cause… cause I can go get a nurse if they’re bothering y-you.”

“I said I’m fine.”

The elder nearly jolted. He wasn’t used to having the younger be so blunt with him, in a non-joking sense at least. Blinking, he tried to remember that this wasn’t the Evan he had once gamed with, but rather one who had been beaten and kept prisoner for close to three years. So, he tried again.

“Okayyyy…. You want anything else? Fooood, a d-drink, a shower? Probably been a while since you had those… shit, p-probably shouldn’t say that. Ummm… more blankets? A pillow? Kinda cold in here. Or maybe a-”

“Delirious, Shut Up.”

It was a snarl that made him properly flinch that time. **_Now that was definitely different_**. Vanoss had told Delirious to shut up a thousand times, mostly for entertainment purposes, but he had _never_ sounded angry about it. But those words were filled with a cold fury Jonathan had previously thought the Canadian incapable of, like an icy blast of wind. He was left gaping at the now seething man, unsure where he had gone wrong. He was just trying to help after all…

But it seemed Evan was finished with their conversation, flopping back onto the bed with a furious huff, glaring at the ceiling with stubbornness. He didn’t move when Jon rose, shuffling out the door with mutters of snacks, glancing back probably more than necessary, only turning away when fiery brown refused to look his way.

Sighing, he wandered aimlessly through the corridors, only pausing to buy a chocolate bar from a battered vending machine, using the little change he had in his pockets. Only when he retrieved the candy did he realise he had no clue how to get back to Evan, but lady luck helped him for once. Lori exited the elevator at the other end of the hall, immediately catching the attention of Evan’s doctor, allowing Jon to follow them back to the Canadian.

Trailing a good few feet behind, he half listened to the conversation about technicalities and budgets, attempting to memorise the sighs that lead back to the room. He was so lost in thought the door nearly smacked him in the nose, neither woman turning as he slunk through rubbing the elbow he used to catch himself.

Evan was still facing the ceiling, now even more tense than when Jon had left, jaw tense as the Doctor checked his chart. Lori had fallen silent, settling herself in Jon’s abandoned chair, tablet in hand being typed on with an art Jon was certain he couldn’t master.

He must have been staring, because the Ambassador suddenly looked u, rolling her eyes at him just as Evan let out a low growl, glare intensifying. The American was surprised the ceiling tiles didn’t catch light, with the amount of anger being directed at them.

Yet blue eyes were the only ones that held surprise, the two women exchanging as exasperated look before turning back to their tasks. A few more moments passed in relative silence before the Doctor finally turned to the prone Canadian, easy smile lighting up her features.

“Well, Mr. Fong, things are looking good. Your pneumonia is responding well to the antibiotics, which will give the rest of your body chance to heal. We’re hoping they will also prevent the rest of your injuries from becoming infected, but that is something we will be monitoring closely, along with your weight gain. The only thing I’m concerned about is your ankle.”

“I’m relying on the metal work they put in to be the frame work for the bone regrowth, but I’ve got to say, that’s looking a bit doubtful. You may have to have additional surgery on it at a later date to stabilise it in a more permanent fix, but we’ll see how things go.”

She paused, waiting for a response, but Evan just grunted, mocha refusing to leave drab grey. The Doc just smiled softly, undeterred.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Fong, you are in good hands here. And I promise we will get you home as soon as possible, you just need to wait for your body to heal first. But as soon as your fit to fly, we’ll have you on the first flight back to Canada, one way,” she joked, slipping the chart back into it’s holder. Turning towards the door, she paused so Lori could stand and join, the pair giving Jon a nod of acknowledgement, only stopping when a cracked voice called out.

“Wait,” Evan spoke, suddenly propped up on his elbows, wobbling unsteadily. His face was strained, flushed cheeks doing nothing for the sickly look he was supporting. Jon too a step forward, hand reaching out as if to stable the younger, but a sharp look stopped him in his tracks. The Canasian cleared his throat, eyes darting to the waiting pair before flicking away again.

“Thanks…” he began, sounding painfully awkward. “Thank you, I mean. For everything. Both of you.”

Lori shot a grin at the doctor, who returned it brightly, both woman turning back to the shifting gamer, who was refusing to look anywhere but the foot of his bed.

“You’re very welcome Mr. Fong. We just hope we can continue helping you,” Lori said kindly, smiling softly when Evan’s face flushed further. Jon resisted the urge to coo, not wanting to face even more of Evan’s wrath, but it was a close one. The man looked fucking adorable, cheeks red, draped in the still too large gown. It was like seeing a kid in his dad’s shirt paying a compliment to someone they like, aka too cute for words.

He was so lost in staring at his friend, Jon didn’t even notice their company leave until the door clicked shut, leaving the two men in a rather weird silence. Shifting, Jon fell back on his only trick. Humour.

“Well, that was weird,” he stated, flopping back into his chair. Evan just stared, blush slowly retracting, nose scrunching when he took in a deep breath.

“And you stink, fucktard,” the younger responded, small smile forming when Jon sniffed his pit only to immediately gag.

“Yeah, you right,” he cheeked back, earning a light snort. “But ain’t nowhere to shower, is there?”

Without missing a beat, a finger rose to point towards the corner of the room. Jon peered across, easily spotting the door with a shower and toilet symbol. It was the American’s turn to flush, grinning sheepishly at his friend, smile morphing into a more genuine one at the honey smooth chuckles that came back.

**_Maybe Vanoss isn’t all gone._ **


	21. Fever

That night, Jonathan found himself sleeping in the chair once more, having struggled to turn down Lori’s offer of a clean hotel bed, the woman looking sceptical about his claims the plastic was perfectly comfortable.

“Are you sure? It’s a four-star hotel, and just a block away,” she pressed, brows furrowed in concern. “We would contact you if anything happened.”

“N-no, that’s ok. I’m… I’m good here.” Lori just raised a brow. “I swear, chairs super comfy.”

“Right,” the official drawled, seeing right through the American’s weak lie, fancy key card hanging from her fingers.

But despite the temptation of clean, warm sheets, and a decent bathroom, he remained in his chair with an awkward grin, ignoring Evan’s steady stare. Lori eventually left him with an address and the key (“ _just in case you change your mind”_ ), the two men silently settling in their places

They didn’t speak, mocha brown still locked to the ceiling, bright blue focusing on his laptop, checking for water damage. Other than a cracked screen, all seemed fine, wifi sending his email to Luke quickly, informing the elder of his location. He kept the Evan fact to himself, not quite ready to deal with the shit storm that would surely occur afterward.

He would leave that decision for Evan, when the younger was back on his feet.

With a click, he shut his laptop, setting in aside and leaning back, head finding the best place to rest. It wasn’t the most comfortable, but he must have been exhausted, because he slowly drifting off to the sound of bustling traffic outside.

But Jon regretted declining the room when he woke up, room still dark and quiet, spine screaming in pain. He shifted, bones cracking loudly in the silence, eyes flicking to still form in the bed, praying the noise hadn’t woke his friend. Or what should have been a still form…

Evan was shifting beneath the sheets, soft murmurs escaping thin lips. His pale face was painted a sickly yellow from the street light pouring through the window, lids fluttering with disturbed sleep as he twitched. Jonathan held his breath for a second, certain he had woken the Asian, only for Evan to fail to wake.

Frowning, Jon leant forward, muscles tense with a combination of nerves and pain, chair squeaking obnoxiously. Yet the high-pitched sound also failed to rouse his friend, murmurs slowly gaining volume. The American finally stood, shuffling towards Evan as quietly as he could, tired blue scanning for the cause of the distress, unable to find anything but a sheen of perspiration clinging to the younger’s forehead.

Pale fingers moved without permission, reaching out to swipe away the drop threatening to fall into thick black lashes, only the pull back from the overheated skin he found. Evan was running a fever, most likely the cause of his disturbed sleep.

Biting his lip, Jon glanced around, looking for a thermometer or temperature reading, but only finding various paperwork. Luckily a shadow decided to pass the window, the elder gamer giving his friend one last worried glace before dart towards it, sticking his head out to find a nurse walking away.

“Um, ‘scuse m-me?” The lady stopped turning to face him, eyes confused.

“K̄hxxp̣hạy?” ***check notes***

Jon’s face dropped.

“Oh, ah, shit, um, hold on, um….” He rambled, dark browns looking very confused as they assessed him. “Sorry, uh, my friend. Wait… Pheụ̄̀xn k̄hxng c̄hạn. K̄heā r̂xn.”

A beat passed, the nurse obviously trying to work past his accent and poor grammar, before realisation crossed her round face, producing a thermometer as she came closer.

“Tha-thank you…” Jon stuttered, flushing as he remembered once more. “I mean - K̄hxbkhuṇ.” That earnt him a soft smile, the tiny woman shooing him out the way, so she could slip into the room. She wasted no time placing the device in the sleeping man’s ear, frowning when it beeped, before looking back at the hovering gamer.

“Phạk xyū̀ c̄hạn ca klạb mā” she stated, striding out of the room, leaving behind Jon to try and decode the words. He shifted from foot to foot, praying she had gone to get help, picking at his battered nails as he watched Evan’s still shuffling form, worry building as murmurs turned to wheezes.

He moved closer, hand rising once more, this time gripping onto the bed rail, cool metal doing little to distract him. Shallow cheeks had turned an ashen grey, pale lips parted to release even puffs, sounding too thick and wet to be normal. Black brows were furrowed in distress, the prone male looking terrifyingly ill with the flush painting high cheekbones. The younger shifted again, this time throwing his head back on the pillow, midnight locks smushing against the pillow as he released a pained moan.

Before Jon could move, however, the door swung open once more, revealing who he assumed to be a male doctor, followed by the nurse the American has caught earlier. They bore him no glance as the hurried to their patient, skilled hands immediately checking various vitals as Jonathan tried to keep out of the way.

Evan still failed to wake, despite the prodding, wheezes only pausing when the stethoscope was applied to his chest, most likely cool against his over heated skin. The sight of the younger’s prominent ribs made the other gamer feel sick, hands curling into fists as he helplessly watched the professionals try to help his friend.

After what felt like hours, but was more likely minutes, the doctor stepped back as Evan began to settle, now with an oxygen mask firmly over his mouth. Sweat was still shining on the Canadian’s forehead, but the stress had smoothed away.

“Pneumonia.”

He jumped.

“Sorry?” Jon asked the doctor, heart still pounding from the scare. The man didn’t react, just waving a hand towards his patient.

“Fever, caused by pneumonia. More medicine, should stabilise,” the man stated blandly, black eyes sweeping over the form in the bed. “ _Should stabilise.”_

The second murmur didn’t instil Jon with much confidence, but he didn’t really have much choice but to trust the man currently leaving. Blue eyes wandered back to his friend, teeth digging into his lip as he shuffled closer, fingers finding purchase on the cool rails. Only the voice floating over from the door pulled his attention back.

“Be careful. Could catch,” the elder spoke, before sweeping through the door, nurse in tow. Snorting, the American shrugged, grinning crookedly at his sleeping friend.

“I ain’t ‘fraid of no bitch ass bugs,” he murmured, hand shoving too long hair away from his brows before returning to his chair. “And you shouldn’t be either.”

He didn’t realise how wrong he would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry?  
> My Friend, He’s hot.  
> Stay, I will come back  
>  (these translations done using google translate, so forgive me.)


	22. Gmod

The next few days were pure hell. Evan was either unconscious or in a state of delirium, fever and disease raging through his thin body, chest rattling with the force of his coughing fits, medication doing little to help.

It had reached the point where there was a nurse in the room almost constantly, ready to push more fluids and sedation through the younger’s IV, masked faces leaking concern past their concentration. Evan’s usual Doctor had returned, her and Lori holding long conversations outside the door, shooting Jon concerned looks every time they saw him sat soundly by Vanoss’s side.

The nurses had tried to make him leave several times, but he had refused, clinging onto his chair as if was his only connection to the Earth. He couldn’t leave the Canadian now, not when the younger spent his time awake screaming in terror, eyes wild with confusion and fear.

The elder gamer did his best to help Evan in these times, talking about anything and everything, praying a familiar voice would help anchor the man, unable to touch out of fear the flailing limbs would damage one of them. It broke his heart every time his friend called out for his family, begging them to save him, sounding younger than Jon had ever heard.

It was horrifying to witness, and everyday he cursed the bastards that had stolen the younger away, wanting to go back and rip them to pieces every time a broken whimper met his ears. It felt like the hell would never end, days stretching into a week, Evan becoming thinner and weaker by the day.

On day nine, although, something different happened. Jonathan had been dozing lightly in his chair, listening to the heavy rain pound off the window, when rustling pulled him back to the land of the living. Tired blue blinked heavily, struggling to focus on the bed, almost failing to register the skinny man attempting to escape the sheets.

Reality dawned like a brick to the face, long legs launching his flailing body upright and forward, catching Evan just before the younger hit the deck face first. Flinching automatically at his friend’s too light body, he hauled the other upright, blue catching hazy brown at he propped Evan back onto the bed.

“What the fuck Vanoss?” he rasped, sleep still thick in his throat. “You coulda hurt yourself.”

His fellow gamer merely blinked, mocha coloured confusion swinging around shakily as if he’d lost something.

“Gotta go,” the younger informed Jon, attempting to shuffle back off the bed, oblivious to the oxygen mask still looped around his neck.

“Where? Bathroom?” the elder quizzed, shifting to block the Canadian’s advances. He was ignored, left to raise a hand and grip a thin wrist with a questioning “Evan?”

“Gotta go,” the younger insisted, struggling weakly. “Promised I play.”

_You what?_

“Play what?” Jon asked, head tilting.

“Gmod,” Evan mumbled, focus far from Jon as he looked towards door. “Brian’ll be pissed if ‘m later.”

Holding back a snort, the American released the thin wrist to hold narrow shoulders, fingers grazing feverish skin past the thin gown, smiling when brown finally found his own gaze.

“Brian can go fuck himself,” he reassured, grin widening when Evan let out a loose giggle. The noise soothed his nerves like hot shower after a long day, familiar despite the situation. “Come on, bed t-time.”

A soft whine met his ears, brown widening in complaint, innocent look capable of tugging anyone’s heart strings. It was almost irresistible, soft and sweet in a way Evan was not, a touch of a hidden personality Jon wasn’t usually aloud to see.

But sadly, reality too priority, and Brian wasn’t waiting to play Gmod, even if Evan was well enough to play. “Common,” he continued, pressing the younger back by his wrists. “Sleep.”

The Canadian fell back with little resistance, eyes drooping, mumbling nonsense as Jon tucked him back in. The elder caught the odd phrase, whispers of “death run” and “Nogla” reaching a part of him he’d left behind when Evan vanished, chest aching with longing.

“Shh,” he hushed, back straightening slowly, urge to brush black locks back strong. But then Evan decided to make him try and cry.

“Important.  D’lirious comin’.”

Blinking back the rush of water, mentally blaming it on dust, Jon gave in and ran his own pale digits across his friend’s overly warm forehead.

“S’ok,” he murmured, voice wobbling with an emotion he refused to name. “S’ok Ev. He’ll forgive ya. _I_ forgive you. Promise.”

But Evan was already asleep, breathing rough and loud until it was muffled by Jon’s fixing of the oxygen mask. The taller stayed after that, floating in his own emotions, teeth gritted in effort to ignore them. It was all getting a bit much, having lost his friend, left his job, left his country, found his friend, and now heard this. All he wanted to do is go home, curl up in bed, and sleep for a century. Maybe get drunk off his ass, turn up his music, and let the world melt away.

But he couldn’t leave Evan. Not like this. So, with a heavy heart, he dragged himself back to his chair, giving Vanoss one last glance before trying to sleep.

Time continued to pass, and Evan remained feverish. There were no more incidents of attempted gaming, but several terrifying moments where the Canadian was physically attacking anyone and everyone he deemed to close, so lost in his own head even sedation struggled to calm him.

Jon spent these days avoiding Luke’s questions, instead messaging Sam about shitty monsoon seasons, and the ongoing in the club. It was nice to have a friend for which his past was still unknown, who didn’t pick at the little hints he forgot to edit out. Sam was someone with whom he could talk utter shit, making jokes about nothing, and relaxing like a normal person.

He refused to think it was like how he and Evan used to be, the Canadian the only one of his friends willing not to push, happy to spend his time laughing with a practical stranger thousands of miles away. The guilt that threaten to swallow him was quashed, “it’s not replacing him,” a mantra on repeat.

It was a drowning haze he’d left to escape, but now refused to leave. Time passed at a crawl, only to race with the ECG. Plastic dug into his spine until it was time to wake, when it was the softest bed he’d ever had. It was hell on earth, yet miraculous that the man in the bed was still breathing.

Yet he’d go through so much more to keep Evan in his sight.


	23. Lucid

“I feel like shit.”

Jon shot off his chair so fast he hit the floor, knees aching as he scrambled to keep his face from joining them. The floor felt like ice in that moment, slippy and cool, determined to stop him from finding his feet. After what felt like hours, Jon managed to grab the side table, yanking himself upright, panting and dishevelled.

Wide brown stared back, shock hidden behind a raised eyebrow, judgemental look barely covering the mirth from where Evan lay prone, skin looking as grey as the sky outside. For a second, the only sounds were the constant rain and Jon’s heavy breathing, blue wide as he scanned his now lucid friend.

“Walk much?” The younger suddenly uttered, sass heavy, before hunching over in a fit of coughing. The American reached forward, but was waved off by a stick thin arm, Evan taking a few deep breaths before slumping back against the pillows, cheeks flush with exertion. Even so, the cheekiness stayed in his look, waiting for an answer Delirious didn’t care about.

But even he couldn’t resist the bait.

“Talk much?” he shot back, huffing at the snort he got in return, flopping back into his chair as he sighed, heart finding a slower rhythm. “Jesus fuck dude, don’t scare me like that.”

Evan just rolled his eyes. “I’ll make sure you’re awake next time I dare speak then.” Jon couldn’t help but feel as if he was imagining the touch of hurt behind the annoyance, unable to find a trace in fiery brown, exhaustion doing little to stop his friend from glaring him down. Sighing again, he ran a hand through his hair, tugging lightly at the strands as he clarified.

“Not what I meant dip shit,” the elder drawled, arms crossing as mocha narrowed further. “I mean almost fucking dying man. Scared the crap outta me.”

Brown brows furrowed then glare lessening from one of anger to one of confusion.

“What the fuck are you on about Delirious?” the younger snapped, impatient tone unable to kill the spark of warmth that came from the use of the elder’s gamer tag. It was the only bit of normal left and Jon couldn’t help but grip onto it as if it was a lifeline. So much shit had happened over the past couple of weeks, all way out of the depth of an ex-YouTube gamer, so any normality was like a gift from the gaming gods.

But there was no time to thank said gods when his fellow gamer was staring him down, waiting for an explanation.

“You’ve been out of it for days,” the elder sighed, resisting the urge to just melt into a pile of exhaustion. **_Come on Jon, he needs you._** “Doc said you’re new-new-newmona got worse, made you all delirious and shit. It was scary stuff man.”

The confusion melted away then, a flicker of panic flashing through before a tired acceptance took its place, spidery hand coming to rub at protruding ribs.

“That explains the crappiness,” the younger mumbled, more to himself than Jon, but the American still nodded in agreement. **_Crappy indeed…_**

Silence fell over the pair then, Jon chewing anxiously on his lip as Evan stared into space, fingers now tapping an unfamiliar rhythm against his sternum. It was almost peaceful in a way, the tension of the past week and a half leaching away to leave an unsteady tranquillity, the American still unable to shake the feeling they were just waiting on the next disaster. Some distance voice told him it would be like this until Evan was better, stick thin frame still causing nausea if he focused on it too long.

It wasn’t long before the doctor appeared once more, seeming pleasantly surprised Evan was coherent once more, asking a few short questions about how the Canadian was feeling and scribbling some notes before sweeping away again. Soon after the younger gamer drifted back to sleep, most likely still exhausted despite all the rest, leaving Jon to wander into the adjoining bathroom for a quick shower and shave.

The hot water was soothing on his still frazzled nerves, like washing away a bad dream, leaving him feeling fresher than he had in days. Evan was still sleeping when he finally stumbled out of the steam filled room, air cool against his now smooth chin, his toothpaste leaving the world tasting minty. Jon flopped back into what was now _his_ chair, opening his laptop to scroll through twitter.

It was nearly dark by the time Lori appeared, her quiet greeting to Jonathan making the sleeping occupant stir, tired eyes blinking slowly awake as he struggled to sit up. Jon’s offered hand was quickly glared away, the look still smarting despite being expected. For a second, he just stared at his friend, unable to hide the pain in the face of Evan’s dismissal, but the expression never changed.

It was only Lori clearing her throat that pulled their gazes away, the woman hiding her curiosity well in the face of business.

“Good to see you up, Mr. Fong,” the ambassador began, ignoring the less than friendly grunt she received in return. “I’ve just come by to give you both an update on the current proceedings. The man whom you were found with is currently on trial for his crimes, but we’re expecting that to take several months at a minimum.”

Evan flinched violently at the words, face closing off completely as bony shoulders hunched up in defence. Jon watched closely, spotting as wrapped fingers dug into the bed sheets, the fair sound of fabric stretching loud in the near silent room. The elder yearned to help but knew right now anything he offered was not welcome. Yet still he had to bite his tongue to stop the urge.

Lori, to her credit, said nothing.

“He has given the location of his supplier, who is currently being arrested as we speak. Apparently, he turned out to be wanted in thirteen countries, including a warrant for his arrest in the states. We currently have some very pleased law enforcement officers sending their regards to whoever started this investigation.”

The last part was directed at Jonathan, an awkward flush rising in his cheeks as he glanced towards his friend. Evan was seething, he could tell, having been through hell at the hands of such a criminal, only for Jon to receive praise for leading the cops to him. The American couldn’t help but silently agree, caring less about who ever thought he’d performed a miracle, and more about the man whos survival was a miracle.

His thoughts were interrupted once more as Lori turned back to Evan, gaze steady despite the fury currently being directed at her.

“You’re in luck, Mr. Fong. There is enough evidence to put these men away for life plus some even without your part. If you so wish, you don’t have to give an official statement to the police about what happened. The authorities in Canada on the other hand…”

She trailed off then, perfectly shaped eyebrow perking at the bitter snort that escaped the injured man.

“Great, perfect, woop de doo. You caught the bad guy. Doesn’t fucking change what happened, but as long as they can say they threw him in jail, lets throw a party.” Each word was a cruel snarl, as if Evan wanted them to damage and hurt, verbal barbs the only weapon he had left. Jon couldn’t supress his flinch at the tone, feeling as if he was six years old again and being yelled at by his childhood bully. The old urge to press his palms over his ears and cry was an unwelcome visitor, but he had no time to dwell. Evan was learning forward now, fist clenched as he growled, obviously not done as he cut off Lori’s attempted platitudes.

“Don’t,” he snapped, body shaking with barely contained fury. “Don’t even try. I don’t give a shit if you think this is meant to make me feel better or some crap, because it doesn’t. Just tell me when I get to get out of this fuck hole and go home.”

“I suggest you calm down, Mr. Fong, before you cause yourself anymore damage,” Lori responded coolly, hand raising as Evan went to start bitching her out again. “Stop. I understand you are upset, and you have every right to be. But taking it out on the people who are trying to help you will do nothing for you. So I suggest biting your tongue for thirty seconds whilst I finish explaining, before you start blaming the whole world for what happened to you.”

For a second, Jon wondered if Evan would attack her. Chocolate brown were alight with pure rage, thin frame shaking with barely supressed fury. Bandaged hands clenched and uncleaned rhythmically, wheezing breaths rattling loudly in the near silent room.

But then, as quick as it had started, it stopped. The Canadian man threw himself back against his pillows with a furious huff, looking like an angry teen, arms crossing over his chest in defiance as he continued to glare down the elder woman. Lori just rolled her eyes, letting lose a tired sigh as she straightened the tablet in her lap.

“Thank you,” she continued, voice having returned to it’s business like manner. “Now, as for getting you home, there are two factors controlling this. One, your health. Your doctor is unwilling to let you fly until this bought of pneumonia has cleared completely, but after that, pending no further issues, you should be ok’d to go.” She ignored the irate snort that came from the bed, brown eyes rolling once more at Jon, smile hiking at what had to be his impressed expression. **_This woman is unflappable._**

“Secondly,” she continued, obviously not caring about Evan’s rudeness, “is the Canadian government. They were determined they required a statement from yourself about the events that led you here, but we’ve proposed the use of DNA to prove your identity instead. Problem is, this goes off the tract of traditional law, so it’s taking a while for them to come to a decision. Luckily, the science backs us on this one, so there is little doubt our proposal will go through. I’ve got a direct line to our representative in Parliament, so as soon as I know, you’ll know.”

Evan didn’t respond, now glaring at the ceiling in silent contempt. Lori seemed to take that as her cue to leave, nodding a goodbye to Jon as she rose. The American couldn’t help but watch her go, wondering what it was like to be able to do something to help. Was the exhaustion in her stride from dealing with Evan’s personal issues or the job she took on? What did that woman have to keep her going?

The question was answered a moment later, willowy figure pausing at the door, worn face turning back to the mute man in the bed.

“I know it may not seem like it, but we’re trying to help Evan. Sadly, politics leave a lot of hoops to jump through, particularly when one has been legally declared dead. But we will get you home, no matter the cost. Just remember that.”

And then she was gone.

Jon eventually dragged his gaze from the still swinging door, blue easily finding his friend still lay prone, anger melted from the damaged body to just leave a sad weariness. His mouth opened automatically, unable to stand the pained look in the other gamer’s eyes, only to softly click shut when Evan gave a soft “Don’t.”

How one word could carry so much emotion, Jon would never know, but it rang in his very soul. For a split second, he was twenty again, stood with his sister over their parent’s graves, unable to give anything to fix her sorrow, whilst drowning in his own grief. He had felt so painfully young that day, having lost most his family whilst still too younger, so many things left unsaid.

But this was different. Evan wasn’t gone forever. Not this time. There was a future which still held the Canadian, no matter the state. And all the things that he desperately wanted to say, to do, for once, could wait.

And they would.

So all he whispered back was,

“Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so let's explain. I realise I haven't uploaded in 3 months (jesus, has it really been that long). this is due to several reasons. A mixture of writers block, strange university timetables and personal problems have made writing very difficult. I't currently 1 am, and things are still not going well. please be patient with me. I love all of my comments and kudos from you guys, and it keeps me writing, but sometimes life gets in the way. but thank you for sticking with me and being patient. i'm trying for you guys.  
> hopefully next update soon.  
> All my love  
> Cheesewheel


	24. Tears

Jon wasn’t sure what woke him at first. The room was dark and quiet, sleep addled brain slowly registering the faint blue light emanating from the bed, confused by it’s source. _Aliens?_

But a second later he focused on the hunched figure on the bed, screen casting odd shadows across pale features, kicking his memories into gear. It had been a couple days ago, and Evan had clearly been becoming bored, spending more time fidgeting and sighing than sleeping for once, and even threatening to get up once or twice. The Canadian hadn’t been pleased by Jon’s refusal to let him go anywhere, the elder too afraid of Evan’s various injuries to risk it, and the younger too fed up to care.

Eventually Jon had surrendered his laptop, furious glare unable to stop his warnings to avoid anything to do with Evan’s disappearance.

“Don’t be a dick dude, I’m serious,” he’d stated, wishing his voice would come out less whiny. “It’s not gunna change anything.”

Evan had relented in exchange for his password, a grumbled promise the American’s only reassurance until Evan opened Gmod, immediately starting up sandbox with visible relief, finger’s floating over familiar controls.

Things settled then, with only low complaints about bandaged fingers, and Jon’s shitty wireless mouse, the object having become extra glitchy since it got waterlogged. But there was a relaxed state about his friend that made Jon drop any indignance at the insults to his technology, hiding behind his phone as he watched the younger ease his way back into familiarity.

But now, deep into the night, Jonathan realised his mistake. Evan was hunched over in his bed, knees draw up to his chest, thin arms hugging the various flesh and metal that made up his legs. Shadows hid his expression, but the pale light of the computer made the tear tracts shine, broken man tense with something other than fear or anger.

The dim screen showed a familiar screen, distant podium and yellow banner still tugging at the elder’s heart strings, despite years having past. Lee Fong’s strong form filled the rest of the screen, mostly hidden by the stand, expression letting nothing away. His words were silent to Jon, directed through the earbuds Evan had borrowed, but the American could remember them anyway.

_“…We ask that no false claims are made, as they would take up valuable time and resources to investigate...”_

The moment Lee turned to address Evan himself was obvious by the way the younger body and face crumbled, shoulder’s shaking violently despite the warmth of the room, teeth digging harshly into his lip in a way Jon knew hurt.

The younger didn’t move when he rose, too lost in his sorrow to notice the movement across the room, only a soft flinch appearing when Jon reached out and tapped the spacebar. The video paused, the elder Fong’s face painted with a soft sort of desperation, whilst the younger’s face disappeared in his knees.

Jon resisted the need to yank the younger to him, wrap him in his arms and try to chase away the pain, instead unplugging the headphones to turn the screen towards himself, shutting the internet search tabs Evan had left open. Each one made his heart bleed.

**_Evan Fong Disappearance_ **

**_Terroriser Vanoss Missing Video_ **

**_Ohmwrecker face reveal_ **

**_Vanoss’s family_ **

**_Vanoss’s channel_ **

**_Vanoss Funeral_ **

**_Iamwildcat_ **

**_Basicallyidowrk_ **

**_Moo youtube_ **

**_Nogla_ **

**_Lui_ **

**_Cartoonz_ **

**_H2o Delirious_ **

He shut down all the channels Evan had opened, including his own dead one, wondering if this was always Evan’s way of checking up on them. It wasn’t until Twitter was the last one open, did he realise where the younger had gone first, his abandoned Delirious account open, his most popular tweet front and centre.

**_Please help out here guys. Vanoss needs us, and we can’t let him down. Batowl can’t stay lost forever #Vanossismissing #Findtheowl_ **

He remembered sending that tweet in a fit of desperation, a few days after Ohm’s announcement, carefully wording it to not let his emotion be too obvious, but the replies showed he was of little success. But any worry had been tossed aside for concern over Evan. But now it was sat there, a blazing reminder of the loss he had experienced.

A soft sniffle broke him from his reverie, closing the laptop gently as he placed it aside, shuffling slowly closer to the hunched form still curled on the sheets, hand rising in what would hopefully be a comforting gesture.

But before his fingers could connect, a voice rose from the depth of his legs were Evan had burrowed himself.

“ _Don’t,”_ the younger snapped, angry facade destroyed by the crack in his voice. Jon didn’t move, fingertips hovering awkwardly over thin shoulders, wondering how Evan even knew what he was doing. But suddenly bloodshot brown eyes were staring him down, fire covering the ghostly pain, face twisted into a snarl. “Don’t touch me.”

Jon pulled back slowly, as if worried about spooking the younger into snapping, curling his fingers into his chest as he stared uncertainly into the ball of outrage opposite. Evan continued to glare, gaze unwavering as he scrubbed the tear tracts away, anger only increasing as Jon’s expression crumpled into pain.

“Get out.” The statement was little more than a demand, Jon freezing as he tried to register the words. It seemed to take to long for the Canadian, voice rising as he fisted the sheets. “GET OUT!”

Jon didn’t pause to think about it, spinning to flee through the swinging doors, long legs unable to carry him quick enough to escape the noise of Evan’s broken sob, heart breaking just that bit more as he paused outside. The corridor was quiet and empty, clashing against the anxiety coursing through his veins, silence feeling like an added weight on his chest.

Narrow shoulders eventually slumped, heavy sigh escaping his chest as he burrowed his hands in his pockets, eyes shutting as if they could block his sorrow out. He couldn’t stay standing in that corridor all night, and Evan obviously wanted to be left alone, so Jon dug through his pockets until he found the plastic key card Lori had gifted him, glancing at the address before pulling out his phone.

The directions given were simple, streets cool and damp from the recent rain, puddles shining in the street lights. The hotel was less than a five-minute walk away, front doors unlocking with a quick swipe of plastic, bank of elevators gleaming beside the empty front desk. It was late enough that the foyer was abandoned, the rest of the city sleeping, allowing Jon to be alone as he hunted down his room. He barely glanced at the décor, only pausing long enough to draw the curtains before falling face first into soft sheets, sore muscles screaming in bliss at the comfortable surface.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’s slept in a bed this good, bones melting as he wiggled half heartedly under the comforter, body shutting down faster than he could think. He barely caught the flash of guilt, knowing he shouldn’t be able to sleep so easily when Evan was suffering so much, but the stress of the past weeks had obviously taken their toll, darkness rolling over like a storm.

In seconds, Jon was asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your kind words, you have no idea how much they mean to me. I couldn't ask for better readers.

**Author's Note:**

> So, it 3am and I'm starting a new book instead of sleeping. It's probably going to be a long one, and I have most of it planned out. Lets see where we can get.


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